The 77th Hunger Games: The Damned
by Dante Alighieri1308
Summary: After the bloody victory of the 76th Victor, the Capitol has fallen in line. Embracing an array of new decadences, the Capitol welcomes Plutarch Heavensbee as their new Head Gamemaker and 24 new tributes for slaughter. With prospects of rebellion weakening, Plutarch can only hope that this years crop of tributes will allow for a leader to emerge who can combat the growing darkness.
1. Prologue: The New Head Shepard

**_Ok I know I said 12/15 as upload day, but it's Friday the 13th! I couldn't resist :)_**

**_Hello and welcome to the 77th Hunger Games - The Damned!_**

**_To any of you who read the 76th Games, welcome back! To any newcomers, a brief intro! I'm Dante Alighieri1308 and I'm about to write a tragic story in which 24 children fight to the death! Aren't you excited?! And don't worry, you don't have to have read the 76th Games to read this story (it's not one of those stories... but if you want to read then go ahead and do so because I spent a year on it and I'm very proud of how it turned out! Even though Fanfic Admin deleted it... still a sore spot...)_**

**_Enjoy the story! If you don't like then I'm sorry but there are plenty of other HG stories for you to enjoy :)_**

**_If you do enjoy then YEAH! Review/Subscribe/Enjoy the story!_**

**I DO NOT OWN THE HUNGER GAMES. ALL CREDIT GOES TO SUZANNE COLLINS. ANY CHARACTERS OR LOCATIONS OR PLOT LINES NOT FEATURED IN SUZANNE COLLINS STORY BELONG TO ME. ANY TRIBUTES SUBMITTED BY OTHER AUTHORS AND/OR REVIEWERS BELONG TO THEM AND WILL BE CREDITED.**

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**Prologue: The New Head Shepard**

**The Capitol**

He had only been with Caesar Flickerman for a minute, but already Plutarch Heavensbee liked him even less than before.

He was only here on Ceasar's stage because it was required for all new Head Gamemakers to make a public appearance before they started. Some said it was to increase hype for the Games and jump start a Head Gamemaker's career, but Plutarch always figured it was for the Capitol to have a face to put their hatred too if they didn't like the yearly Games.

"As always, it's a extraordinary pleasure to have a Head Gamemaker on the show!" Caesar began happily.

Plutarch smiled, disguising his annoyance with Caesar's insistence on using unnecessary adjectives to describe situations. Plutarch was, as usual, dressed rather plainly for a Capitolite. Especially in comparison to Caesar, who had once again changed his look for the Games. He had settled on an all purple look, contrasting with the Capitol's continued fashion statement of green and forest themes. He claimed that purple was more of a neutral look, but most people knew that purple, the color of royalty, was usually associated with District 1. And Caesar always had a soft spot for the District.

"I must confess, Caesar," Plutarch began with a sly smile. "I feel like a tribute off to fight in the arena!"

"Oh ho!" Caesar laughed, along with his smaller studio audience. "We don't want that!"

"Too late!" Plutarch replied.

The audience laughed once more as Caesar took control of the situation to make a point. "We could never consider you a tribute, Mr. Heavensbee. But in a way, couldn't you be?"

Plutarch looked comically perplexed and the audience chuckled. "Well now I'm concerned." Plutarch responded. "You aren't about to cart me off to the arena, are you, Caesar?"

"Oh dear no!" Caesar laughed. "I only meant to imply that being Head Gamemaker is no walk in the park. And speaking of parks and outdoor areas... would you mind telling us what the arena is this year?"

Caesar sat forward, looking expectantly at Plutarch. The audience laughed on cue, the trained parrots they were, and Plutarch laughed with them. Before Plutarch could respond, Caesar threw up his hands in surrender. "I kid of course." he conceded.

Plutarch grew happy that he didn't have to give his overused charming response to that question. Today he wasn't particularly his most 'charming' since the somber, serious, and sarcastic angle was a good one to showcase. Even though he didn't elaborate on it, Caesar had hit the nail on the head when he said being Head Gamemaker was like being a tribute. They had to put on shows for the Capitol, had to be careful of every move they made, and always had the threat of death looming around them.

And just like tributes, Head Gamemakers were supposed to have an angle for the Capitol; Defining character traits that could give the audience a sense of what kind of arenas they would create. Most of the early Head Gamemakers were raging demons, promising fire and brimstone treatment of the tributes as the memory of the Dark Days were still fresh in everyone's minds. Those days had long since past though, as most Head Gamemakers tried to appeal to the Capitol social scene, creating arena's for tourism or directly pandering to the desires of the Capitol's elite. Some even tried to get involved into the volatile game of Capitol politics. Seneca hadn't been like that, preferring to take a more 'family friendly' angle to his Games. Or at least, however 'friendly' the Games could be.

Thinking of Seneca didn't do Plutarch any good, so he focused his attention back to the interview.

"I'm just as glad as you are that the games are upon us." Plutarch remarked. "Soon, everyone will be able to enjoy our labor of love."

"Fair enough," Caesar admitted. "But I'd be out of the job if I wasn't pushy. So I'm going to have to ask again for you to give us some sort of information!"

The audience was with Caesar, demanding hints of the arena. Plutarch sighed, the impatience of the Capitol never lost. The Games were a week away, they didn't have to wait much longer.

"Well... I'll say this at least." Plutarch began, shaking his head when he saw everyone, even the cameramen, lean in closer. "The arena is in a inhospitable place."

Caesar was clearly disappointed with that answer, but did his best to hide that. "Now, now Plutarch. I don't think my in-laws would approve of tributes dying in their mansion!"

Raucous laughter erupted in the studio at Caesar's cheap and corny joke. Plutarch joined in, appealing to the Capitolites. The interview continued for a while, mainly with of questions about Plutarch's background and his previous work with the Games. The Capitol was very happy to hear he played an active part in last year's Games, which had given the Capitol its most popular Victor in years.

The interview wrapped up with one important question. "You can impress the Capitol all you want, Plutarch, but theirs one person above all you've got to appease. Do you think our esteemed President will approve of the Games?"

Plutarch took a moment to ponder, though he already had rehearsed an answer for the question as all Gamemakers were asked it. It was a delicate question, he couldn't be overly proud as the President wouldn't like a grandiose Gamemaker, and he couldn't be too humble as the Capitolites wouldn't like a weak willed Gamemaker.

"I would like to think that the President will enjoy the Games this year, as I hope all of Panem will. If not, then I am at the mercy of the Capitol and the President, but that's very unlikely."

Caesar, happy with the answer, ended the interview on a high note. The audience cheered for Caesar and Plutarch and before the camera's shut off, Caesar shouted out one final instruction. "And don't forget to tune in tomorrow at ten for District 1's Reaping! Happy Hunger Games!"

The camera's shut off and the lights lifted in the studio. Plutarch and Caesar exchanged a few more words before Plutarch dismissed himself to return to the Gamemaker center. Working his way through the masses of new fans, Plutarch finally made it to his limo where his personal Avox held the door open for him.

"Thank you." He muttered to her, sliding over in his seat so she could sit next to him.

Madge Undersee nodded silently.

Plutarch was still not thrilled about Madge serving him so openly. Nor did he like the idea of Avox's at all, even if Madge had demanded she be made his personal Avox. Spending all day in his apartment had become a bore for her. District 13 wasn't able to provide extraction for her yet, claiming it was too risky, so she decided to make herself useful. Plutarch had finally conceded to the girl's demands, though requested that she change her appearance once more to avoid the watchful eye of Snow. Madge's new face was simple yet fair, her most defining trait being her bright red hair, which matched her red Avox clothing.

He had warned her about... incidents that might occur with her. Men would most certainly abuse her when Plutarch wasn't looking and there was always the threat of Snow finding her. But Madge didn't seem to care. From her standpoint, Plutarch was serving the rebellion and she was willing to help him in anyway she could. Even if that meant reducing herself to Avox status.

They arrived at the Gamemaker center, surrounded by reporters. Peacekeepers broke them up and made a line for Plutarch and Madge to walk through, avoiding all the reporters thirsty for a story. Plutarch smiled and waved to them politely while Madge kept her head down like a good Avox.

Once inside though, things didn't immediately improve. Plutarch was swarmed by other Gamemakers, catching him up to speed on everything he missed while with Caesar.

_'The new training center has been completed...'_

_'Forecasts have just come in for the next month... looks good for the arena...'_

_'The terraforming blocks have been removed from the arena...'_

_'Slight delay with Peacekeeper deployment in District 8...'_

_'District 2's mayor is demanding a teleconference... something about bad press...'_

Plutarch addressed as many issues as he could, though most of them he redirected to various department heads. Upon entering his office, he wasn't surprised to find Dr. Lucretia Novella awaiting him, her purple hair still as puff as ever.

"Dr. Novella," Plutarch said pleasantly. "Sneaking into my office when I'm not around? That isn't very polite."

She smiled at him pleasantly. "I'll risk it. Better that standing with the rest of those fools."

"Those fools are your co-workers."

"That doesn't mean I have to like them." she shot back.

Plutarch gave her a knowing smile, "Would you like a drink?" he asked, signaling to Madge to begin pouring them something.

"Not today." Dr. Novella declined. "I just stopped by to report to you on our... issue."

Plutarch's posture tightened, his mind knowing what she was going to say. "The Tournament Games." He muttered, taking a seat at his desk.

Dr. Novella nodded her head. "We've received another report, this one taking place in the Agrippa household."

Plutarch sighed, tired of the Capitol's bloodlust. It had recently come to his attention that some Capitolites were hosting their very own Games in their homes, titling them the 'Tournament Games'. They were fought by Careers who failed to enter the Games, and were sold by their District leaders to Capitolite households to fight for a small crowds amusement. The festival had gained the name 'Tournament" as there were usually eight fighters who fought one on one battles with each other until only one remained.

It was another disgusting example of Capitol bloodlust, but most failed Careers didn't see that. They didn't even care they were being sold like property. Fighting was all they knew how to do and the alternatives of becoming a Peacekeeper, mentor, or plain citizen didn't appeal to eighteen year olds who had been told for years they were bound for glory one day.

"I'll talk to the President about it." Plutarch said, "I doubt he'd like it."

"I'm sure he already knows." Dr. Novella muttered, a tone of blame detectable in her voice.

Plutarch, outwardly loyal servant of the President, gave Dr. Novella a look. "And I'm sure he'll do something about it."

"I don't need to tell you what these Tournament Games could do to us Gamemakers, do I?" Dr. Novella chided.

"Do you think I'm that much of a fool?" Plutarch growled.

Dr. Novella visibly recoiled, realizing she had forgotten her place. "Of course not, sir." She quickly corrected.

"Good." Plutarch said, speaking lighter. "Now, I'm assuming you've also come to talk about the Leviathan." Plutarch said, sitting down behind his desk.

"Yes." Dr. Novella answered, her tone adjusting for their crowning jewel of a mutation. "The Wests have done a remarkable job with it, currently adding the final touches right now. It should be complete by the time the Games start."

"The Wests and _Dr. Sinclair_." Plutarch corrected, smiling slightly at the grudge between the two doctors.

Dr. Novella shrugged. "I suppose. Though the Wests are worth twenty of Dr. Sinclair if you ask me."

"I was told we have you to thank for bringing them back into the fold." Plutarch remarked casually.

Dr. Novella's eyes narrowed, "Yes, they understood it was in their daughter's best interest to keep working."

"Of course they did." Plutarch said, sickened by the threat delivered to the suffering family. The Capitol had already taken two of the West's daughters, Genevieve with poison and Isabella in the Games, and with only Elise left... well they were only too easy to control.

"Anything else?" Plutarch asked.

"Not for now, but there will probably be more in the days to come."

"There always is. Let's just hope we don't have any incidents like last year."

"I doubt we will, sir." Dr. Novella comforted. With a respectful nod, Dr. Novella turned and left Plutarch's office, the automatic doors swooshing closed behind her. As soon as she left, Plutarch clicked a button under his desk, sealing the office from all would be eavesdroppers. A small EMP was also emitted, knocking out any electrical items that weren't on Plutarch's desk or near the holographic television.

"I know what you think." Plutarch said, looking at Madge. "But this needs to happen. It's a necessary evil for a greater good."

Madge, incapable of speech, merely nodded her head and looked away. Plutarch sighed, knowing that his words meant little to the young rebel. Twenty-four children would still be taken from their homes and only one would live. How many times would it have to happen before Plutarch's dream of a hero Victor emerged?

It was his greatest hope, a hope that most of his fellow rebels considered impractical. Plutarch desired a Victor who was different than the rest, one who stood a rebel to the Capitol and its ideology instead of being consumed by it. A Victor who could appeal to all the Districts, to show and rally them in revolution. Plutarch hoped that, since he was now Head Gamemaker, he could influence the Games into giving Panem one of those Victors.

_'Please..._' Plutarch silently prayed. _'Let a leader rise above the rest. Let a symbol rise from this horror and spark a revolution...'_

It was silent prayer that Plutarch feared would not be answered. Panem wasn't that kind of nation. All Plutarch could keep doing was hope for it to happen. But hope was a fickle commodity and never appeared until it was far too late.

Plutarch looked to his television set where Caesar and Claudius Templesmith were blabbering on about the Games. Unlike him, they prayed for tributes who thrived in the chaos of combat, for tributes who would fight and die in spectacular ways, for tributes who would remind the Districts of the Capitol's might.

And Plutarch was all too afraid they would get just that.

**Tributes of the 77th Hunger Games**

**Happy Hunger Games! And May the Odds Be Ever in Their Favor!**

**District 1 (Luxury)**

**M: Chancellor "Chance" Mallerion (18)** - Aloof and observant, Chance thinks before he acts and does not relish his position as Career. He is aware though of the necessity of Careers and will do his duty to his District, to the Capitol, and to his family, if only for the chance to see a little more of the world.

**F: Kyrstal Avery (17) -** Blind and overlooked by her District, Krystal seizes her chance at glory when given it, willing to spill as much blood necessary to prove that she is far from helpless.

**District 2 (Masonry/Military)**

**M: Griffin Waring (18) -** Conceited and oddly outgoing, underneath his flamboyant guise is a monster ready to wreck demise upon his enemies.

**F: Sky Carroll (18) -** This unfeminine Career is a far cry from what standards of beauty the Capitol has come to expect from their Career tributes. But Sky has not come for their love, only the right to kill and claim the crown of Victor.

**District 3 (Technology)**

**M: Watt Dresner (15) -** Traumatized in his younger years by assault, Watt has never truly felt safe anywhere, even by himself. Now he will be forced to enter a place where safety is only a false dream.

**F: Amélie Jeanne Sinclair (16) -** A pawn in the Game of District politics, Amélie only dreams of a fairy tale ending for her life. Now she will have to make her own, twisted fairy tale ending as she's forced into the Games.

**District 4 (Fishing)**

**M: Ansel Gephardt (18) -** Broken after the death of his young bride, Ansel now must fight in the Games and become the very thing his wife opposed with every fiber of her being.

**F: Brielle Purslane (16) -** With a dark past of espionage and politics, Brielle is no stranger to the hardships that plague Panem. Volunteering at her own will, Brielle hopes to get something out of a life that has given her so little.

**District 5 (Power)**

**M: Fuze DeLumiere (15) -** After his family's fall from wealth, Fuze's mind has started to wandering

**F: Jory Edmonds (15) -** Loud, aggressive, and passionate, Jory is never one to back down from conflict or shy away from injustice when she spots it. Now forced into the Games, Jory will not go quietly and will do what she must to make it home to her downtrodden family.

**District 6 (Transportation/Medicine)**

**M: Trenton "Trent" Bell (14) -** Bullied and forgotten for most of his life, Trent will finally make a stand to preserve his life and serve his despair ridden District.

**F: Flux Arello (16) -** Temperamental and strong willed, the harsh life of District 6 has molded Flux into a true survivor. With her District broken, Flux sees a light in the darkness that is the Games and eagerly seeks to win the Games for more than herself.

**District 7 (Lumber)**

**M: Bruce Spruce (18) -** The loud mouthed, proud bully isn't afraid to play dirty to win the Games. A typical meathead, Bruce may cause more trouble than good for his District.

**F: Ayla Thorne (16) -** The illegitimate child of a Peacekeeper, Ayla and her mother have survived together through sheer willpower and good sense. Now she will have to apply those skills in the arena if she hopes to make it.

**District 8 (Textiles)**

**M: Twill Zephyr (16) -** Upper class clique doesn't begin to describe Twill, who revels in his privileged life and hold no sympathy for those lower than him. Twill's motives for survival are motivated by the promise of future wealth and to stroke his uncontrolled ego.

**F: Tassel LaBowe (15) -** Elegant and refined, Tassel is a far cry from what most would associate with a survivor. Tassel will be forced to forsake her past life in favor of a tribute's, or die a harsh death in the arena.

**District 9 (Grain)**

**M: Dagan Hollis (17) -** A member of a family of secrets, Dagan knows very little about the forces that shattered his home and left him alone in the world. Thrust into the Games, Dagan will risk it all in order to make it home to his sister, who holds the answer to all his questions.

**F: Aylin Henrickson (15) -** Known as the 'frown' of her family of ten, Aylin is a pragmatic girl who understands the dark deeds needed to be done for survival. She is ready to do what must be done to survive and make it back to her District.

**District 10 (Livestock)**

**M: Sterling Taylor (17) - **A down to earth country boy, Sterling has lived his life to the fullest every day, not allowing the dark world of Panem to limit him.

**F: Clarimonde "Clair" Amberson (14) -** Reserved and short-fused, Clair is not the easiest person to be around. Trauma from past events have caused her turn into such a person, trauma that may come boiling up just in time for the Games.

**District 11 (Agriculture)**

**M: Haspen Latron (18) -** A well known thief in his District, Haspen has operated and thrived in the shadows all his life.

**F: Luna Shade (12) -** Kind hearted and caring, Luna has lived through far to many hardships for someone so young. She has never lost her faith in goodness though and will strive to be the best person she can be, even in the hell that is the Games.

**District 12 (Coal/Mining)**

**M**: Disputed

**Female: Aileen Whittaker (16) -** A coaster for most of her life, Aileen has lived day to day without much thought to the true conditions of the rest of Panem. She is strictly bound to her morals, however, which will be tested more than ever in the Games.

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**Ahhh... it's good to be back! I've missed the morally bankrupted world that is Panem!**

**So there's the prologue! All tribute positions have been filled so if you're interested, please review/subscribe and keep on reading :) Enjoy the story!**


	2. D1 & D2: The Willing Souls

**_And we begin! Thanks to all who submitted tributes! Once more, I apologize to those who were unable to make the cut. All of the tributes who were submitted were awesome and I was a tough call on all spots. I hope that any tributes who were not accepted will find life in another SYOT, as I know there are plenty of them about!_**

**_Now, let's begin with the Reapings! I'm planning on doing two Districts a chapter to help speed things along. Hope you guys enjoy the tributes and that I did them justice!_**

**_And yes... most Reaping Chapters will be this long._**

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**The 77th Hunger Games: The Damned**

**By Dante Alighieri1308**

**Chapter 1 The Willing Souls**

**District 1**

It was a rare day indeed when the training center was empty, a rare day that Krystal intended to seize upon regardless of the occasion.

Currently, Krystal was focusing all of her attention on the sounds around her, trying to pick up on the slightest detail of which direction the next attack would be coming. It was a skill she was only capable of due to years of relentless training. It was also a necessity considering she was a blind, seventeen year old girl who was trying to be a Career.

A sharp twang was heard to Krystal's left and she spun quickly, raising her shield in time to block the oncoming attack. The plastic arrow thumped against her shield, the fourth one to do so. Krystal sighed angrily.

"Good, Krystal." her brother, Scorpio, commended in his deep voice. "I'm surprised you managed to hear that."

"I hear everything." Krystal retorted. Scorpio rolled his eyes at his younger sister's impatience. He knew that Krystal did not enjoy fighting with a shield and considered this exercise unimportant, but as a trainer at the Career Academy, Scorpio had a duty to make sure his sister was prepared to use any weapon.

"Do you want to go a few rounds without the shield?" Scorpio asked.

Krystal dropped the shield quickly, the metal clanging against the training center's silver floor. Scorpio only smiled back, "Figured. I'll get the machines rigged."

Taking a moment to relax, Krystal swept her hair from her eyes. Even though she couldn't see, it still bothered her to have the hair in front of her face. While she couldn't see, she well fully aware that others could and were judging her constantly. Apparently having hair in front of your face made you looked 'uncivilized', however that look was.

Before Krystal could begin her next exercise though, the hum of the machines dyed down and she heard her brother gasp.

_'Shit.'_ Krystal thought. _'He's here.'_

The Academy's Head Trainer looked down at the brother and sister pair from the raised viewing platform. "Trainer Avery, you know that the Academy is closed on Reaping Day." he barked angrily.

"I know, sir." Scorpio said, stiffening up. "I apologize, sir."

"It was my fault." Krystal admitted, not looking towards the direction of the Head Trainer's voice. She used to do that with people, but found that more often then not she was looking in the wrong place.

From a distance, Krystal could hear the Head Trainer snort derisively. It was a well known fact that he, and most of the other trainers, were not fans of the Avery family. The mere fact that they had allowed twenty-three year old Scorpio to be a trainer was a bizarre miracle.

"Just pack up and get out of here." the Head Trainer growled. "The Reaping starts in four hours."

"We know, sir." Krystal muttered, a hint of challenge in her voice. Scorpio tensed and grabbed his sister, dragging her from the training floor. As soon as they were out of earshot, Krystal laughed.

"What a prick." she muttered.

"Show some respect." Scorpio muttered back angrily. "You won't be able to get into the Games next year without his blessing."

"I'm the fifth Avery to go through the Career academy." Krystal shot back. "I don't think it really matters that much."

Scorpio offered no response to that. She was right, the Avery's were just a long line of failures. Scorpio was the first, followed by Pollux two years later, and most recently the Avery twins Jett and Jasper this year. The mere fact that Krystal was even in the Academy was because her father 'bought' her spot in the Academy. Krystal had hated it and she worked everyday to show that she didn't deserve to be held back because of it or her blindness.

"Tell me what they say about me." Krystal asked.

Scorpio shook his head. "I've never answered and I'm not going to now."

"Well I already know." Krystal replied defiantly. "They think I can't handle myself, that I'm only here because 'daddy's little angel' wanted something and she got it. That I don't stand a chance at making it into the Games!"

"That's enough Krystal!" Scorpio hissed harshly, gripping his sister tightly by the arm. "Just take a shower and get changed. I'll meet you outside the locker room."

"I'm going to shower at home. Layla is coming by to get me ready for the Reaping."

Scorpio huffed, but complied. "Then let's go home then."

Krystal wrestled herself out of her brother's grip and walked out the main doors of the Academy herself. In her earlier years, Krystal had desperately wished for the ability to see the splendor that was the Diamond Quarter, District 1's richest section of the District. She had heard how flowers and beautiful statues lined every corner, along with cobble stoned roads and marbled buildings. Today, those wishes were largely gone as she had come to adapt to her handicap.

Even without sight, Krystal could still hear people mulling around, preparing for the Reapings. Later that night, this entire section of the city would be a zoo of people who were celebrating the start of the Games. It was a week long festival until the Games started, filled with socially acceptable drunken escapades, questionable activities, and easy sexual encounters. Every vice the District dabbled in would be on display and every citizen would be scrambling to participate in it.

After about ten minutes of walking, brother and sister arrived at their home, a mansion that showed off all the family's wealth without reserve. Beautiful gardens and statues lay out front, no expensive spared to let visitors understand that the Avery's could literally throw money around. Krystal was unable to enjoy the splendor herself, but she had been told constantly at how beautiful her home was. Some had commented that the 'airy and open' interior had been specifically for Krystal to limit the amount of objects she could bump into.

The inside of the house was just as extravagant, though somber in mood. Layla and the twins, Jett and Jasper, sat in the foyer, resting comfortably on reclining chairs in front of the holographic television. Caesar was currently shouting his happiness for the start of the new Games as he interviewed Capitol celebrities and reporters on their thoughts on the upcoming Games. Layla brightened up as Scorpio and Krystal walked in, happy for the distraction the depressed twins.

"Krystal!" Layla shouted, letting her presence be known. "We didn't expect you back for a while."

"Head Trainer kicked us out." Krystal responded bitterly.

"Well that's too bad. But at least I have more time to make you look fabulous! Not that you don't already though!" Layla comforted.

"How are you guys doing?" Scorpio asked, standing next to his two younger brothers.

Neither of them looked at Scorpio. "Chipper as can be." Jett replied, sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

"Fucking, Chance." Jasper muttered angrily.

Krystal sighed, not wanting to get involved with her twins. Both of them had been in their final year of the Academy, thus making them eligible for volunteering for the Games. However, both of them had failed to get the position and had lost out to another boy named Chance.

"I heard his family bought the position." Jasper shouted angrily.

Scorpio shrugged. "Could be. It's not that uncommon for bribery to be involved in these sorts of things."

"Or he could have just been very skilled." Layla put out.

All Avery children looked at Layla like she was a misunderstanding child. No one bothered to correct her though. If she wished to live in a 'purer' world then they did, so be it. The Avery's hadn't had that comfort since learning that blood money had been the source of much of their father's early wealth.

"Where is father, by the way?" Krystal asked.

"Out at the mine. He left an hour ago with kiss-ass Pollux." Jett said.

"You know what, I'm going to volunteer!" Jasper suddenly announced, jumping out of his chair. "I don't give a damn what the council said, I'm volunteering!"

"No, you're not." Scorpio said in a stern tone. "You know what happens to family's who go against the council's wishes."

"Nothing bad will happen if and when I win." Jasper announced confidently.

Krystal chuckled at his brother's ambition. "You can't beat Chance. He's too tough." she said.

"The last thing I need is daddy's little girl to tell me what to do!" Jasper shouted back.

"Ok! We're done here!" Scorpio shouted, his authoritative side rising. He gave Layla a look, who nodded in response and began moving Krystal up the stairs to her room. Once they were inside, Layla shut and locked the door behind her, cutting them off from Jasper's ranting about failing to get nominated to volunteer.

Krystal huffed angrily and kicked her queen size bed in a rage, causing Layla to gasp. "Ok, girl talk right now Krystal!" she demanded.

"Stop with the girly girl bullshit, alright Layla? You know I can't stand it!" Krystal demanded.

"Fine." Layla responded passively. "Do you want to tell me what's bugging you?"

Krystal sighed, used to keeping her emotions bottled up. She hated letting people know that she was suffering or feeling conflicted. It only brought on pity and Krystal _hated_ pity. Layla was at least pretty good about it and usually the only person Krystal opened up to, minus Scorpio.

"I'm never going to be a true Career." Krystal said softly. "I... I know that the council will never let me have the spot."

Krystal heard and felt Layla move closer, sitting down on Krystal's bed with her. "Why not? You're a great fighter!"

"That means a lot, considering you've seen me fight all of zero times." Krystal responded bitterly.

"Well I've heard from Scorpio that you're very talented. I never heard him say that about Pollux, Jett, or Jasper!" Layla comforted.

Krystal smiled, appreciative of her brother. She was told that people weren't supposed to have favorites in their family, but Krystal did and it was Scorpio. Father was always busy with work, Pollux never much cared for anything that Krystal did, and the twins always made her feel like she was third-wheeling them. Scorpio was always there was her and supported her through everything. It was his word that finally made their father agree to Krystal training at the academy. Every since then, Scorpio hadn't abandoned her once.

"That's a solid endorsement." Krystal laughed.

"Scorpio doesn't screw around with compliments." Layla said, laughing as well.

"I just... I just feel like no one respects me at the Academy." Krystal admitted. "That people just overlook me because of... you know..."

Layla hummed in agreement, knowing that Krystal hated admitting to her blindness. "People are jerks sometimes, Krystal. It sucks but it's true."

Krystal wasn't a fan of that answer. "They are, but I can be an even bigger jerk. I just need to show them they're wrong, that I do have what it takes to be a Victor!"

Layla gasped and went wide eyed. "You're not going to volunteer, are you?"

"What?" Krystal said, looking insulted. "Of course not!"

"Krystal..."

"I'm serious, Layla! I'm not an idiot," Krystal said. "I know what would happen if I did. I'm pretty sure Vespa would kill me too."

"I _know_ Vespa would kill you." Layla said, the image of District 1's appointed volunteer causing her to cringe. "That girl is a scary bitch."

"True." Krystal said, tired of talking about her future roll in the Games. "Do you want to start getting ready?"

"Yes!" Layla squealed happily. "I found the most beautiful dress for you to wear! You'll have everyone else blinded by your beauty."

"Nice choice of words." Krystal laughed.

"Thank you." Layla said, unfazed. "Now come on, you have to take a shower first before I can start working on you."

Krystal felt Layla hug her, which she returned in full. Krystal broke it apart first, wondering over to her bathroom and shutting the door behind her. Once under the comfort of running water, Krystal allowed her insecurities to blossom.

She knew she would never get the position of tribute... not in a million years. For one, her father would never allow his only daughter to go into harms way. Jasper had been harsh with his tone, but his words rung true. Krystal was daddy's little girl and he never wanted anything bad to happen to her. He could send his sons into danger, but never his daughter.

Plus, it wasn't like the council would allow for a blind girl into the Games anyways, even if she was the top of her class. It would look bad for the District and she couldn't imagine her partner, or the other Careers, sparing much pity for her in the arena. When the Careers broke apart, she was sure she'd be the first targeted.

Krystal felt like crying, something she hadn't done in years. But like always, she toughened up and pulled herself together. She would just have to show them how good she was. She would prove herself a thousand times over; show them that if they turned her down they would be considered fools.

She would become the best tribute they had ever seen.

* * *

Perfection stood reflecting before Chancellor Mallerion, perfection in the form of his own body.

Beautiful, lean, and muscular, Chance held all the attributes of a typical District 1 Career. His brown hair, tanned skin, and green eyes was however different from the usual blonde haired beauty from the District. Still, looking at himself nude in front of the mirror, Chance couldn't help but feel proud of his features. Outwardly though, he hardly cared about those. They were simply apart of who he was and Chance cared very little for himself. He cared for his body, he cared for his mind's wellness, but not much for his appeal to others.

It was still early, still two hours until the Reapings would begin. As always, Chance began his day through his ritual mediations and study. He would stand naked in his stoic furnished room, stretching and bending his body to limber up before taking on the day. In the background was soft and eloquent music which would inspire Chance to go for his limits. On his desk in front of him rested a book, which Chance would study and learn from every morning. Today's lesson was on the female anatomy, spotting the differences between it and the male's. There were plenty of pictures of nude, beautiful women, but Chance's body did not act accordingly. Only a fool couldn't control their emotions like Chance could.

Still, it was hard for Chance not to feel anything on Reaping Day. Pride, however deadly it was, swelled through him as he reflected upon eight years of training that had gotten him to where he was today. It had been no easy task to prove himself to the council, but they had selected right when choosing him. District 1 had sent in fine tributes for the past few years, but none of them came close to claiming the title of Victor. Not like he would.

There was a knock on his door and his family's maid informed him that breakfast was ready downstairs. Chance got changed into loose fitting clothing and headed downstairs where his parents were already sitting at their mahogany dining table. Expensive silverware was laid out in a set of three; some of the best money could buy. He knew his family would have preferred gold, but the Capitol was rather fickle about supplying citizens with anything golden.

Chance understood their reasoning, he even admired the Capitol's understanding of subtle subjugation.

"Chancellor!" his mother, Blair, said, brightening up at the sight of her son. "We've made you your favorite breakfast for your special day!"

Chance smiled softly, knowing that his parent's contribution to the meal was a command to the kitchen staff. "Thank you, mother." he said, taking his seat at the table. His meal, like most things about him, was a simple breakfast. Scrambled eggs, a few links of sausage, and a glass of orange juice. A servant brought out some bread and jelly for him too, smiling happily at him.

"Good luck today, sir." she said.

Chance thought about correcting the servant, letting her know that luck was nonexistent, but decided against it. Why dampen the mood with correctness? She was clearly happy for him and why should that stop?

"Will you be having another party this year?" Chance asked his parents.

"Of course! The Mallerion Reaping day party is an essential part of District culture now." Chance's father replied.

_'For some.'_ Chance thought to himself, thinking of all the elite snobs who would be passing through his home tonight.

"I just hope we won't have any vagrants tonight." his mother said, taking a sip from her glass. "I'm told that the Jasmine Quarter smells of vomit and filth for a week after."

Both parents chuckled at the thought.

"Ah yes. Let the poor suffer among the poor, yes?" Chance asked rhetorically.

Neither of his parents made a comment, focusing their attention on the food in front of them. While no one in the elite liked the think about it, a significant percentage of the District population was living in poverty. Yes, District 1 had a large upper and middle class, but the lower class still made up almost half of their population. It was nowhere as bad as the outlier Districts, but it was bad enough to be noticeable. Still, District 1 never appeared that way to the rest of Panem as all of their tributes were from the wealthy family's.

As they continued to eat in silence, Chance looked over both of his parents, trying to figure out how they were truly feeling about him volunteering.

Did he love his parents?

That was a difficult question for Chance to answer and a difficult concept to grasp, but it was a question that had been plaguing him for a while. He understood that he wouldn't be in this world without them, he understood that he wouldn't have lived such a fortunate life without them, and he understood that they _loved_ him. But Chance couldn't quite express those feelings of love for them. He wasn't sure why, his parents were so full of life and never left him short of love. Chance had lived a life of luxury and privilege, all thanks to his parents. But he always felt like something was lacking in their relationship, something that no matter what he did he couldn't bridge.

"I'm going to get changed." Chance declared, getting up from the table and allowing the maid to sweep away his food.

"You're not even finished with your food!" his mother cried.

"Not hungry." he stated, leaving the room quickly. He moved back to his own room, moving methodically past all the beautiful works of art his parents had acquired over the years. Chance didn't do much else for the rest of the morning, opting to sit in his room and listen to beautiful music. He didn't know when he'd have a chance to listen to the composer again, it was his understanding that the Capitol was rather... electronic with their taste in music. Chance shuddered at the thought of such horrendous, overhyped 'music'.

Still, he couldn't deny his excitement of visiting the Capitol. District 1 bored him and volunteering was, among other things, a chance to explore more of the world. He planned to seize every opportunity he got to explore every inch of the Capitol.

An hour later, Chance departed his home alone. His parents had a few things to do before they made their way to the Reaping. He didn't mind though, Chance preferred to be by himself.

"Hey Chance!"

Chance turned, surprised to see his fellow trainee from the Academy, Xavier, waiting outside his house. Some would call them friends, but Chance had never really warmed up to the idea.

"Surprise! Happy Reaping Day!" Xavier announced happily.

"What are you doing here?" Chance asked, realizing how rude it sounded moment after.

Xavier paused, never adjusting to Chance's monotone way of speaking. "I thought I'd come walk you to the Reaping. You know, as support and stuff."

"Oh, well that's thoughtful of you." Chance said. He continued walking away, giving no indication for Xavier to follow him. He still did though, offering a smile in return.

"So good day for a Reaping." Xavier said.

"I suppose."

"I saw-"

"You don't have to create small talk." Chance interrupted.

Xavier paused, allowing silence to fall over them as they walked towards the Reaping. As they did, the eloquent surroundings of the Diamond Quarter gave way to the modest yet imposing setting of the government buildings. The Justice Building stood at the center of the city, a large yard in front of it to house all the children for the Reaping. District 1 was by far the smallest District in Panem, a mere speck on the map compared to sprawling expanse of other Districts, like District 11, so accommodating the entire District's child population was not hard. There was of course some overflow, but the younger children could be squished together.

"I saw Whittaker earlier today." Xavier said, finally breaking the silence. "She looked... well."

Chance looked at Xavier but gave no other sign of his thoughts. Whittaker... he hadn't seen her in over a year. In fact, no one had really. She had become a pariah ever since she had failed to volunteer for last years Games, allowing instead for Charm Acelyn to step forward and claim the spot. Her reasoning was perhaps the worst as well, she was fearful for her life. Fearful for what she would face in the arena. Fearful for what would happen to her family should she fail to win the Games.

Chance felt a pang of similar fear for a moment, but quickly brushed it aside. What was done was done, there was no point in dwelling on it. He knew exactly what he had signed up for and he had been trained to the best of his abilities. To take the cowards way out was irresponsible and pathetic.

And thinking of pathetic people, Chance couldn't help but feel aghast at the citizens around him. Most of the adults, and a few of the older teens, were already partaking in the Reaping Festival, downing alcohol fast and easily. Already, Chance saw two red faced men trying to hold a conversation but merely falling into hysterical giggles. In another area, Chance saw several working girls – and guys – getting close to drunken men, telling tales of pleasure for money. Chance shook his head at such blatant displays of foolishness.

He wouldn't miss District 1 that much he began to realize.

* * *

Krystal hated being lead anywhere, yet she was forced to rely on Layla to guide her with so many people around. While Krystal knew the District by memory, she did not know the movements of everyone in it. Most of the time people got out of the way for her, but on a Reaping Day, when every one was either too busy or too drunk, no one cared to move.

"See you after the Reaping." Layla said, dropping Krystal off at the seventeen year olds section as she left for the eighteen year olds section. Krystal sighed, standing on the fringe of her section right by the walkway to the stage. People gossiped and chatted excitedly around her, most of them making plans for later in the night. A few of them were even drunk. Krystal could care less about celebration, if she could she'd like to head to the Training Center and start preparing for next year's Games.

After about ten minutes, the Reaping began. The mayor walked on stage, much to the crowd's enjoyment, who burst out in applause. On the stage as well were several key members of the District government, the previous Victors who were dressed in gold and wearing their Victor crowns, and the Head Peacekeeper of District 1. It was obvious from the way the mayor spoke that he had already begun participating in the day's festivals, as had the other citizens on the stage, minus the Head Peacekeeper who looked at the others like they were idiots. Years of military experience, and personal experience, had taught him that alcohol consumption was for the weak minded. Anyone with a speck of self-dignity wouldn't demote themselves into a drunken stupor.

Krystal was of the very same mindset and she was happy she couldn't see the mayor making a spectacle of himself. He finished his speech and the reading of the Treaty of Treason, which outlined the reasoning for the Hunger Games. Finally, the usual propaganda film was shown, showcasing the might of the Capitol and the glory that could be gained through the Hunger Games. The crowd cheered when they saw the shadowy outline of a triumphant Victor, standing proud and surrounded by transcendent light.

And then it was time for the main event.

The District's escort appeared on stage, stumbling to make it in one piece given her drunken state. "H-hello District 1! How ya'll doing today!" she screamed too loudly, the microphone screeching from her standing to close. The escort began to giggle. "Sorry about the 'ya'll'! I use to work for District 10! They had the most... most positively, excruciatingly horrendous accents!"

The crowd forgave her with cheers, though Krystal flinched with every sound the escort made. Personally, Krystal thought her high pitched, Capitol accent was worse than anything District 10 had to offer.

"Now I know I don't need to... to - hic - get you folks excited for the Reaping, so let's get right it!" the escort declared loudly. As the crowd cheered, the escort stumbled over to the Reaping bowl and fished out a sheet of paper quickly. She moved back to the microphone, unwrapping the slip quickly. With a quick cough, the name on the paper rolled off her tongue sharp and disfigured by liquor.

"Krystal Avery!"

Krystal gasped, though no one else did. They all knew that Vespa would be volunteering.

"I volunteer!" Vespa's voice rang out as she skipped out of the eighteen year old section. Krystal barely heard it though, lost in her own thoughts instead. She had been Reaped... chosen to participate in the Hunger Games! Suddenly, Krystal felt herself moving from out of her section and towards the stage. As she walked, Krystal noticed that the cheering was replaced with murmuring as people watched her walking towards the stage.

"Excuse me!" Vespa screamed behind Krystal. She turned to face the older girl, her face carefully emotionless. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I was Reaped. I'm going to go fight in the Hunger Games." Krystal replied simply.

"But I volunteered!" Vespa shrieked.

Krystal shrugged. "Well this is awkward.," she said with a faint smile. "Since I don't accept."

Gasps erupted around the yard and beyond it as citizens watched the drama unfold. Unable to see, Krystal could only image the look on Vespa's face filled with rage. Nervously, Peacekeepers began to make their presence known in case of a fight breaking out. The chances of that though were slim, but such a disruption hadn't happened in a while. This was District 1 after all, known for its civility when it came to the Reapings. It wasn't District 2, whose barbaric ways allowed for potential candidates to fight it out on national television.

Suddenly, all eyes began turning to the District escort, the Capitol's representative in the District and the ruler on the matter. The escort visibly tensed up, trying to figure something out through her inebriated mindset. She knew District policy on volunteers and knew that this potential volunteer had been trained and selected by the local government to compete in the Games. But the other Capitolites didn't know that. To them, they would be seeing Krystal as standing by her right to represent the District in the Games. It would be seen as honorable and commendable, unlike here in District 1 where people no doubt wished to bash Krystal's head in for her interference with established protocol.

But the escort knew that it wasn't what the District wanted or expected. The Capitol came first, and the rules it had laid out for the Reapings were clear.

"Well... unfortunately dear..." the escort began, addressing Vespa. "Um... if the Reaped individual does not wish to relinquish her spot then she does not have to. So Krystal, if she wishes it, will represent District 1."

"I do wish it." Krystal said confidently.

"NO!" Vespa shouted, rushing towards Krystal to attack. "This is my Reaping! My chance at glory!"

Krystal was prepared for the attack and threw her arms up to defend herself. The attack didn't last long as Peacekeepers rushed in to break the two apart, though not before Krystal managed to rip out part of Vespa's hair. Vespa was dragged away screeching obscenities at Krystal, promising to kill her if she ever showed her face again. Meanwhile, another delegation of Peacekeepers led Krystal to the stage, offering to help her up.

"Oh stop it!" she shouted at them. "I may be blind but I'm sure as hell not stupid! I know how to walk up stairs!"

The escort recoiled at Krystal's words, able to see her pale eyes better at a close distance. "Oh! You're... you're blind aren't you?" she said.

"Yes I am. You got a problem with that?" Krystal asked defensively.

"N-no! Not at all!" the escort said, thinking frantically that she had made a terrible mistake. "Um... Krystal Avery everyone! You're female tribute for the 77th Hunger Games!"

The response to Krystal was complete silence. The majority of the populace was infuriated that their selected tribute would not be entering the Games, and the few friends that Krystal had were furious that she would even volunteer. The escort ran to the male's drawing bowl, wanting to end the Reaping ceremony. She drew a name quickly, reading it off clearer than she had Krystal's.

"Desmond Oswald!"

"I Volunteer!"

Chance stepped forward from the eighteen year old section with a bemused smirk on his face. He did not know who Desmond was, but he was confident he would not be volunteering. The Peacekeepers quickly rushed to Chance's side, eager to prevent a similar incident. None broke out however and Chance ascended the steps to the stage with grace. The escort smiled happily. "Hello there! What's your name then?"

"Chancellor Mallerion. I prefer Chance though."

"Well Chance, I'm glad you had a chance to volunteer!"

Chance, and the rest of the District, was not amused.

Flustered, drunk, and embarrassed, the escort pushed the two tributes together and bid them to shake hands. "Your tributes for the 77th Hunger Games! Krystal Avery and Chancellor Mallerion!"

Krystal held out her hand for Chance to take, which he did with pleasure. "That was very brave of you, Miss Avery." Chance said.

Krystal shrugged. "More stupid really. But the universe gives you something so why not take it?"

Chance nodded his head. He had never thought much of Vespa, finding her overall attitude insufferable and plain boring. But Krystal, she was different. There was an air of confidence to her that no blind person should have. He knew her from the Academy, but had never talked with her much. Yet now, he couldn't help but feel intrigued by Krystal. She was rather… pretty too with her hourglass figure, strong arms, and rustled dirty blonde hair.

Yes... he might just find his District partner a good companion for the Games.

* * *

**District** **2**

Nothing seemed to be working for Griffon Waring on Reaping Day.

_His_ day of all days too! The one day where everything was suppose to be about him! Well... he tried to make everyday about him since he was _Griffon_, but that didn't mean anything.

"What do you think about this one?" Griffon asked, stepping out of his closet with his newest suit.

Fiona, Griffon's sixteen year old sister, sighed at her brother angrily. He was dressed in the most obnoxious suit she had ever seen. It was checkered black and white, the pants and under shirt far to tight for Griffon to be wearing. The oddest thing about the suit was it had diamond holes in it to show off his flesh, along with a red cape that wrapped around his neck easily. His golden belt held a rather large ruby on it too.

"I think it's perfectly theatrical!" Griffon announced happily. "So showy and sleek! In fact, I think I look a bit like a noble man! People should indulge me by calling me Lord Griffon, don't you think? Ah well, I won't be too fussy about the details!"

"Do you remember that talk we had?" Fiona asked, tone condescending.

Griffon frowned, angry coming over his happy complexion. "I'm not gay."

"But you never hang out with girls!" Fiona insisted.

"There will be time for those after I win the Hunger Games!"

"'Those'?" Fiona asked.

"Must you insist on being an annoying brat all day, Fiona?" Griffon snapped, his tone rising. "I had hoped we could spend quality time together before I go into the Games!"

Griffon paused and forced himself to calm down with breathing exercises. Within moments, he was smiling once more. "Would you be so kind as to help me with my hair, Fiona?" Griffon asked.

Fiona sighed, but relented, beginning the arduous task that was fixing Griffon's hair. He had to have it done in a special manner, all his near white hair blanketed over the left side of his face. It was an odd hairstyle, but the only one that would cover up Griffon's imperfections from a rather nasty training accident with a mace.

"Mom misses you." Fiona stated simply.

It didn't sound like a simple statement to Griffon. He knew his sister would never directly engage in an argument, but Griffon was more than willing. "I bet she does. That's why she's avoided me for the past eight years."

"You've seen her." Fiona said.

"Yes, on the street. Never in person." Griffon spat back, his temper beginning to flare again. "You're doing it all wrong, Fiona!"

"I'm sorry." Fiona responded, like she didn't care at all.

It was to much for Griffon to take, who burst up from his seat at the vanity and began shouting at Fiona. "You're not sorry you pathetic brat! Why don't you just leave and run back to our bitch of a mother like you did all those years ago!"

Fiona, without a word, turned and left her older brother's room. She slammed the door behind her and once her footsteps were heard descending down the stairs did Griffon let lose his rage.

Honestly, how could he possibly believe that he would have an enjoyable afternoon with his sister?! She acted like nothing was wrong, but underneath her facade, Griffon knew that she hated him for his life choices! Choices that she thought stupid! Fiona was a fool and pathetic excuse for a sister, just like his bitch of a mother!

"Griffon." a gruff voice said on the other side of the door.

Griffon's father entered the room before Griffon answered, as usual not carrying about boundaries. He was a gruff man who had little in common with his son, the only thing being this interest in the Games.

"Saw your sister leave." He said.

Griffon rolled his eyes, though nodded his head as well. He waited for his father to say something else, but no other words escaped his lips. Griffon sighed in annoyance, taking it upon himself to speak. "She insisted on talking about mother. I silly topic about a silly woman."

Griffon's father nodded his head, knowing the delicate nature of the subject. "How she doing?" he asked.

"Who?"

"Your mother."

Griffon shrugged. "I honestly could care less about her."

Silence enveloped the two of them, showcasing the weak relationship between the two. It had been like this since the beginning, but only got worse once Griffon's mother left. She had been unhappy with her husband's insistence on training Griffon for the Games, preferring he specialize in something a little less life threatening. In order to full show her protest, she had left Griffon, offering to take him with her and Fiona. Griffon had chosen his father though, the allure of fame and glory of the Games too much for him to resist.

It was a blow that his mother never recovered from and had since stopped communicating with her son.

Griffon's father, without much else to say, turned to leave the room. He stopped before leaving, looking like he wanted to say something encouraging to his son, but stopped before he could. "Reapings start in an hour you know."

"I do."

"Don't be late."

"I'm never late."

His father huffed but left the room without a fuss. As soon as he left, Griffon turned to his vanity and pulled out his eyeliner, placing it carefully around his eyes. It was another eccentricity that Griffon was rather proud of it, finding that it gave him a much more intense, intimidating look.

Once he finished, Griffon allowed himself a moment of reflection. His appearance looked flawless, his personality was in check, and his desire for victory burning hotter than ever before.

This was it. The moment that he had been waiting for his entire life. He had proven himself countless times over, survived the Crucible, and had defeated all the other competition for the spot of tribute. In a few days he would take to the arena, prepared to kill everyone who stood against him.

Griffon's lips moved to form a delicate smile. Glory and fame would soon be his and his alone…

And he would destroy any who dared get in his way.

* * *

"My little girl! All grown up and ready to volunteer!"

"Mother, please." Sky Carroll sighed in contempt, though secretly enjoying her mother's fawning nature.

"I'm sorry, sweetie." Sky's mother breathed, wiping her watery eyes. "I'm just so happy for us! And you're going to look gorgeous in this dress!"

Gorgeous, that wasn't something Sky wasn't used to being called. Looking at herself in the mirror, Sky couldn't help but feel a pang of hatred for her body. Six foot, muscled over every inch of her brown body, a square and flat face, and scars from multiple training incidents, Sky felt as though she were the ugliest girl in District 2.

Sky grunted at her moment of weakness. What was beauty compared to strength? Beauty wouldn't make her a Victor, beauty wouldn't save her from the hardships she would face in the arena. Beauty was an abstraction that blinded people and made them weak.

Sky was not about giving into weakness. A hint of that and you were dead in the arena.

After last years debacle with Cyra, District 2 became very careful about who they sent into the Games this year. It hadn't escaped the District's attention that District 2 had become the least popular Career District due to certain incidents in the Games, namely Victor Cato's killing of Katniss Everdeen and Victor Brutus's slaughter of several Capitol favorites in the Third Quarter Quell. Nicolae, in his morphling withdrawal states, hadn't helped much and Cyra being cut down in the Bloodbath was considered a sort of vengeance karma against the District.

So the District solved the problem with the only solution they knew. Use of violence. The trainers from several Academies in the District gathered the potential candidates and began forcing them to fight one another. Griffon Waring scored the position for the male spot, a position Sky thought better suited for someone else, while Sky won the spot for the female tribute.

She knew her winning was hardly what the Trainers had hoped for. She knew the reputation her family had garnered negative attention ever since her mother had been a trainee for the Games. But Sky knew that they were all fools for those thoughts.

"Will Cozen be joining us later?" Sky asked her mother.

Her mother gave her a reprimanding glare. "Cozen is your father and should be addressed as such. And yes, he'll be joining us for the goodbyes I believe. You know your father, always busy with one thing or another."

Sky rolled her eyes as her mother finished cleaning her hair. The only thing that Cozen was ever busy with was illicit activity. He wasn't even legally her father as him and her mother had never married. Genetically yes, Cozen was related to Sky, but in the eyes of the Capitol her mother and Cozen were unmarried. If that's the way the Capitol saw it then Sky was willing to see it that way too. The Capitol's word was final and not to be disobeyed.

Sky's mother finished her hair and left the room, still singing praise for Sky's strength and ability. Sky simply rolled her eyes, knowing how deadly too much praise could be. District 2 had raised far to many tributes with too much pride, eventually leading to their downfall. Sky had no intentions of being like that though; she was better than the others that came before.

After tackling putting on her dress, Sky departed her home quietly. She knew her mother had already left their small house on the edge of the city. Sky looked at it in disgust, knowing that it was the best Cozen could do for them. Her mother didn't work herself, instead spending all her energy on cheering Sky to complete her dream. It wasn't comfortable living, but once Sky was Victor that wouldn't be an issue anymore.

It was still early for the Reapings, District 1 hadn't even started theirs, but Sky always preferred to be early rather than late. She made her way through the city, noticing the post Reaping festivals being set up. Their festival was rather muted compared to the two other Career Districts, just like the District itself. No one participated before the Reapings though, seeing it as disrespectful and taking away from the main event. Besides, District 2 had a reputation to uphold and all of Panem seeing it's citizens drunk on Reaping day wouldn't help. Only idiots like District 1 did that.

"Hey Carroll!" a voice shouted behind Sky. She turned to see who was addressing her so harshly, though lightened up once she saw who it was.

"Jasper." Sky said, offering the boy a small smile. Jasper strutted towards Sky, giving her a simple nod instead of warm embrace. He was well aware that Sky shunned any physical contact that wasn't strictly combat related, but figured he held a special place in Sky's mind. He had been her trainer for the past year, losing his spot to Nicolae last Games. It was still a bitter subject for him and no one brought it up with him unless the wished to be beaten to a pulp.

"I'm glad I found you." Jasper smiled back. "I wanted to wish you luck in the Games. And don't you dare say you don't need luck!"

Sky rolled her eyes. "I need better odds." she replied.

Jasper scoffed playfully. "You're from District 2. The odds are already well in your favor."

Sky laughed lightly, something he hardly ever did. Jasper knew how to make her happy though. "Usually people do this after the Reapings. You know, with the goodbyes and all."

"I'm sure there will be a big crowd though." Jasper replied.

Sky gave him a look. "For me?" she asked incredulously.

"You're popular!" Jasper said, knowing he was making a false argument. "What about Stephen?"

"Are you kidding me with that one?" Sky asked in a mocking tone. Stephen was two years younger than her, though utterly obsessed with her too. One day he had tried to rob her on her way out of the training center, but Sky was much tougher than he anticipated and was beat within an inch of his life as consequence. Three weeks later, after being released from the hospital, Stephen was back on her tail though interested in becoming a Career. Sky knew he'd never make it, but he still served as a nice punching bag in the Academy.

"But really, Jasper," Sky said, returning her focus to him. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Well, there's something I wanted to talk to you about." Jasper said, lowering his voice. He took Sky by the shoulder, a risk move, and lead her away from the crowds to a side ally. Sky looked at him nervously, not used to the secretive aura that Jasper was giving off.

"What the hell is it?" she demanded. Was he about to admit that he liked her? Was that even a thing? Sky never felt that way about him? She never felt that way about anyone? But why the hell else would he be acting like this?

Jasper paused for a moment, clearly nervous about what he was about to ask. "I don't want you to volunteer." he blurted out.

Sky's eyes widened. "Shit! You do like me!" she said aloud without thought.

Jasper recoiled. "What? No! I-I don't want you to volunteer because I have a way better opportunity for you!"

"What are you talking about?" Sky asked angrily, flustered by her previous outburst. "You're not asking me to be a trainer are you?"

"Of course not!"

"Then what is it?"

"Would you let me speak!" Jasper snapped.

"You're not doing a good job of it!" Sky snapped back, turning to leave. Jasper grabbed her muscular arm though and pulled her back, his eyes fired with intent.

"There's a knew fad sweeping the Capitol right now." Jasper began, "It's very underground as of now but it's becoming a bigger deal each day! They're calling it the Tournament Games."

"The Tournament Games?" Sky said. "Is that basically what it sounds like."

"Basically. Tournament fight to the death situation, all of it conducted in some rich Capitolite's basement or something for the entertainment for a the few privileged."

Sky laughed loudly, clearly concerning Jasper. "And why would I want to give up my spot in the Games for this?" she asked.

"It's good pay."

"When I'm Victor I'll have more money than I know what to do with." Sky replied. She had never been the sharpest tool in the shed, but Sky could tell that these Games were a very bad idea. "Look, I've been training for the Hunger Games by entire life. I'm not going to give that opportunity up just to go fight in some dingy basement for a few people."

"It's a Capitolite's house," Jasper countered. "It's probably a golden basement."

Sky rolled her eyes. "Thanks, but no thanks, Jasper. Why don't you go ask the other trainees who didn't make the cut. I'm sure they'd be thrilled for the opportunity."

She left Jasper without another word, not even turning back to look when he called her name. Honestly, did Jasper really expect her to turn down her ticket into the Games? Her entire life had been centered around this one goal, this one dream. Nothing else had mattered to her than victory in the Hunger Games, her mother's passion had driven her here.

Sky wasn't about to throw eighteen years of training away for nothing. Nor was she going to die in the Games for even less.

* * *

Griffon attempted to show up fashionable late, or at least however fashionable he could be for the Reaping. Most of the attention given to him was no doubt due to his outfit, which was the same checkered suit that he had shown Fiona earlier. Sure it was odd, but it stood out and the Capitol would not soon forget it. Plus, District 2 tributes were usually so _boring_ with their Reaping attire. Why not make it interesting?

Most of the District children had already filtered into Justice Yard, eagerly waiting for the Reapings to begin so they could celebrate afterwards. Griffon sighed, suddenly upset that he wouldn't be allowed to participate in the Reaping festival. It was so much fun to dance with other people, socialize into the night, and toast to the Games and the District 2 tributes in them. He then realized that soon everyone in his District would be toasting to him and his mood elevated once more.

As Griffon waited to get his blood drawn for Reaping check in, he noticed a infamous face leading a pack of children through the line.

Amara, late bride to be of Nicolae Viscorian.

It was a scandal that captured the attention of District 2 for a while. During the Victor Tour, Amara had stepped forward as representative for Nicolae, much to the embarrassment of her wealthy family. Dying in the Games was a huge dishonor to a person, usually resulting in a public damnation of that tribute's memory. By associating herself with Nicolae, Amara had drawn the acts of damnation upon herself and thus her family. To avoid this, Amara's family had kicked to the street, forcing the girl to survive on her own. She had done well for herself, serving her District by taking a job at the local orphanage and helping raise children there.

Looking at her now, Griffon could only scoff at how pathetic she was. Amara seem to sense eyes on her and looked up to meet Griffon's eyes. Unlike most people who looked at him, Amara's eyes gave away no sense of discomfort or fear. Why should they? She had dated, fucked, and loved Nicolae, who had been on of District 2's more deadly and crazed tributes.

Griffon was brought back to reality by a sharp prick on his finger. He looked at the women who had taken his blood with rage. "A decent warning would have been nice you foolish woman!" he spat. The woman didn't look offended though and waved him away, grabbing the next child's hand to draw blood.

Almost twenty minutes later the Reapings finally began. The usual procedure was followed, an event with Griffon found extremely tiresome and uninteresting. A dull reading of the Treaty of Treason by their old mayor, an even duller film from the Capitol, and then their overdressed escort began to draw names. Griffon had nothing against flamboyant dress but the Capitolites had no class with their clothing. It was like they found pieces of garbage and were trying to be 'edgy' with it. There was no rhythm, no messages with their fashion.

_'Maybe I should bring that up in my interview.'_ Griffon thought. _'I'm sure they'd love to hear fashion tips from me!'_

The escort, excited though professional in manner, was quick to start pulling names from the Reaping bowl. She unfolded the paper and read off the chosen females name, only for another to shout at the same time.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

The female section parted, allowing for Sky Carroll to step out and move towards the stage. The amount of girls who gave her nasty stares was not lost on anyone either. If the District government hadn't threatened serious repercussion for any who interfered, the tributes would be brawling it out at that moment.

A boy next to Griffon scoffed. "So a Carroll finally got in, huh?" he muttered.

"Why wouldn't she?" another boy whispered. "Look at her? She's a fucking mammoth! Ugly like one too, imagine how much hair she's got growing down under."

"No, not that! And that's fucking disgusting!" the first boy hissed. "Don't you know about her mother? She tried to volunteer three times when she was younger, always screaming about how she was going to win the Games! My dad told me she's always been a joke, and now look at her! Using her daughter to fulfill her stupid fantasy. I even heard that her mom and whoever knocked her up are planning on making another baby if Sky dies."

Ignoring the other boys vulgar and unrefined language skills, Griffon was intrigued by the thought. He always knew that part about Sky's history, everyone at the Academy did, but Sky herself didn't seem to acknowledge it. That was probably for the best though, or more likely her parents had brainwashed. The latter was far more likely, knowing Sky. Griffon had never much cared for the girl and her unappreciative manner for appearances. The thought of them being partners disgusted Griffon.

_'No class or care for appearances, disgusting._' Griffon thought bitterly. _'Hopefully she'll kill over in the Bloodbath, just like Cyra.'_

Griffon was so distracted by that pleasant thought that he almost forgot to volunteer. His voice rang out clear and confident though when his time came, stalking out onto the path towards the stage with confidence. He ran towards the stage like a dancer, pouncing up the stairs on his toes, and doing a full spin when he landed next to the escort. His red cape spun with him, making him look like a blur of red. Griffon suddenly stopped spinning and faced the audience, a large smile on his face and his tongue sticking out of his mouth. The younger children laughed at the sight while the older children and adults scrunched their faces in disbelief.

"Who the hell ok'd this guy to represent District 2?" one girl in the crowd asked her friend.

The friend shrugged in response. "I don't know, but they must be a fucking idiot."

Griffon made a move to the microphone to make his speech, but the escort grabbed it first. "And who might you be?" she asked politely.

"Griffon Waring! Proud citizen and representative of District 2! I want you all to know how honored I am to-"

"Ok then! Let's save the speech for your interview with Caesar, shall we?" The escort interrupted, clearly annoying Griffon who's pale face turned red. This wasn't the escort's first year working District 2, and she knew that these tributes liked to give long, unnecessary speeches. No one wanted to listen to those. "Now then District 2," the escort continued. "Your tributes for the 77th Hunger Games, Sky Carroll and Griffon Waring! Shake hands you two!"

Sky and Griffon faced each other reluctantly and shook hands quickly, neither of them bothering to produce a smile. Both of them despised the other for petty, superficial reasons and the Games weren't about to change that.

"Happy Hunger Games!" the escort's voice rang. "And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

_'They always will be.'_ both District 2 tributes thought at the same time.

* * *

**_First Reaping chapter is complete! Hope you guys enjoyed and will review with your thoughts! I always feel like I never do the Careers justice as I like writing about the downtrodden and repressed Districts._  
**

**_About the previous Games for any newcomers: Peeta died earlier in the 74th Games, leaving Katniss and Cato in the final two. Cato managed to kill Katniss, claiming the title of Victor. The 75th Games were the same as canon with the same previous Victors (Haymitch went in by himself) and Brutus ended up winning them. I kept it similar to canon because even if Snow was using the Quarter Quell as a chance to kill Katniss, I feel confident that at least one of those cards which listed the condition of the Quarter Quell would send Victors back into the Games. Honestly... the point the Capitol was trying to make made sense to me, though Snow did a horrendous job of keeping it on track (no thanks to the rebels and Plutarch)._**

**_Up Next: District 3 and District 4_**

**_Tributes: Watt/Amélie and Ansel/Brielle_**


	3. D3 & D4: The Damaged Souls

**_Sorry for the delay! Usually my updates don't take this long, but with Christmas/me procrastinating buying gifts till the last moment/reuniting friends, things kind of slowed down. And sorry for not responding to the reviews last chapter! I shall be doing so this chapter :) Thanks for the reviews too!_**

**_But ok! I'm in the flow of things now! Which also means I'm going to continue to give my A/N comments at the start of every chapter which have nothing at all to do with the story! I like involving you in things on my mind because you have no choice but read it! (Unless you skim down... you can always do that too I suppose...)_**

**_I saw the Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug last Sunday! Thought it was better than the first Hobbit but GOD DAMN that ending! I read the book so I know what happens next but still... jeez... Also Tauriel is a total badass but what was that love triangle? Also I have an issue with the orcs. Basically when I was ten and watched the very first LoR movie, the first time I saw an orc I was scared out of my mind! Those things gave me nightmares and still genuinely creep me out! These Hobbit orcs have nothing on the original ones though, and I think it's because of the CGI. Peter Jackson... come on man!_**

**_Ok, done with that. Enjoy the chapter! Have a great New Years too! Hope you guys all do something fun tonight and have a great 2014 :)_**

* * *

**Chapter 2 The Damaged Souls**

**District 3**

"You can't go back!"

"Carmen..."

"No Amélie! Don't defend her! You know I'm right!"

Amélie sighed in discomfort, brushing her light red hair from her eyes. It wasn't even a violent argument, and Carmen was being caring, but Amélie already felt the tears beginning to form in her eyes. The threat of conflict always caused her to shrink away from the world and pray for her fantasy world to materialize.

"It's Reaping Day." Amélie protested quietly. "I'll need to go for appearances."

"Screw apperances!" Carmen shouted back. "She's an abusive bitch who-"

"DON'T TALK ABOUT MY MOTHER LIKE THAT!" Amélie shouted back. It wasn't filled with anger though, only an all too real fear that Carmen was right. Carmen realized this and quickly adjusted her attitude, falling into a state of comforting. She moved towards Amélie with her arms extending slowly, wrapping her cinnamon colored skin around Amélie's pale skin.

"We've talked about this, Amélie." Carmen tried to reason. "You ran away for a reason."

"But she wants me to come back! She asked for me!"

"She sent a servant."

"She sent _Rose_! My favorite!"

Carmen rolled her eyes at Amélie's childhood lifestyle of luxury. Or at least... whatever luxury District 3 could provide. For the few who got lucky enough, luxury included living in the Core. Contrary to what it's name suggested, the Core was actually outside of the city in an calm, suburban area. It was known as the Core due to the the area's population consisting of the richest member's of society; or according to the Capitol, the people who made the District work. The Core was hardly 'comfortable' by Career District standards, but people who lived there were guaranteed hot water, less crime, working plumbing, and some relief from the smog that covered the District.

It was the exact opposite of where Amélie and Carmen lived at that moment. The apartment complex they resided in wasn't even complete, it's skeletal remains left behind by the Capitol. The foundation was rough and incomplete, allowing for little privacy for the multitude of homeless citizens in the District who lived there. Amélie and Carmen had carved out a quaint nook of the complex for themselves, even finding a tattered drape to offer them some privacy.

"I just worry about you!" Carmen said softly.

"Well you shouldn't." Amélie responded. "I can take care of myself."

Carmen didn't believe that for a second, but still relented to Amélie. With a caring smile, Carmen planted a loving kiss on her girlfriend's lips. "Fine! But I'm walking with you to your house."

Amélie posture tightened as she thought of the difficulties that would cause. "I have Rose to walk me back!" Amélie said, "And you have to get ready for the Reaping!"

"I don't have anything to wear besides that." Carmen shrugged, gesturing to the tattered dress she managed to find in thee dump. "Besides, if I don't get back in time I'll just go in what I'm wearing."

Carmen might have been ok with that, but the Capitol wouldn't like it. Capitolities loved their stereotypes in fashion, with girls in dresses and boys in suits. Anything different just became to complicated for them.

"Ok. You can come." Amélie conceded, knowing she wasn't going to win the fight. "Just... just please don't come into the house. Mother wouldn't like that."

With another prolonged kiss, both girls descended the unstable staircase and exited the complex to find Rose outside. She looked very out of element compared to the rest of the complex's residents. She was dressed in rags, like most people in District 3, though her rags were cleaner and had color in them. In a District where greys and blacks dominated, any color on clothing was considered a sign of wealth. That social cue made a lot of the wealthier residents walk around with colored bandanna's on their bodies, regardless of how ridiculous they looked.

"We're coming back." Amélie stated, the implication of Carmen joining them causing Rose to frown.

"I don't think your mother will be happy with _her_ coming back with you." Rose replied. She attempted to sound friendly, but the discomfort with the nature of Amélie and Carmen's relationship was showing. Amélie was always hurt by it, but Carmen could care less. Far more important people in her life had rejected her for being herself, hence when she lived in a shitty apartment complex and not her parent's slum house.

"It's final, Rose. Please." Amélie said, to which Rose nodded reluctantly.

The three sixteen year old girls departed, silence ensuing for the majority of the walk back. Occasionally someone they knew would walk past and a muttered greeting was offered. The day itself was rather dreary, though the smog that permeated every inch of the District had dissipated a bit, lifting the spirits of a few of the citizens. Some offered dreary or sarcastic 'Happy Reaping Day' to others, only echoing the sentiment that all wished the day, and the Games, over with. Some were looking forward to the post-Reaping Festivals, though only for its promised chance to drink away ones sorrows and alleviate the pain of living. Amélie herself had never been much of drinker, but even she had to admit that the promise of a carefree demeanor was almost to much to resist.

After ten minutes of traversing the decaying city, the trio arrived at the trolly stop, taking it outside the city to the Core. Upon arriving at Amélie's house, the three girls were greeted to an unusual sight. Three brutish men stood outside of Amélie's house, each one looking more dangerous than the last.

"They weren't here when I left." Rose commented softly.

One of the men took notice of them and offered a crooked smile. He was short, balding man who's face looked as if it had been in one too many fights, while his teeth suggested heavy tobacco use. It was a rare commodity in District 1, usually supplied and handled by criminal organizations.

Carmen's protective instincts showed and she stepped in front of Amélie. "Go get her mother, Rose." she commanded.

Rose looked to Carmen like she was crazy. Before she could respond though, the thug called out. "Mommy's inside with the boss man." he said, voice slurry and unrefined in tone. Amélie suddenly felt a surge of insecurity, fearing for her mother's life. Carmen sensed this, but still refused to let Amélie go near the thugs.

"I hear you two are lesbians." the thug called out, a perverse smile coming to face. "I always imagined they supposed to be super hot or like hairy men."

One of the other thugs began to laugh while the third, a tall and lanky man, licked his lips hungrily. Amélie's body was shaking with fear, though Carmen held her ground. "Sorry to disappoint." she replied.

"I hear lesbians just need a man to fuck 'em." the lanky thug laughed. "Set 'em straight."

"Hardly." Carmen shot back. "Besides, I bet your dicks are so small, no one could feel them inside of them."

"The fuck did she say?" the short thug asked rhetorically, his hand going for the switch blade in his pocket.

Before the situation could escalate though, the door to the house opened and two figures stepped out. The first was a tall, well trimmed man with a greasy look about him, while the other was Amélie's mother, Melanie. Both appeared to be happy about something, indicated by a firm shake of their hands. The man turned to leave, surprised to see the three girls in front of the house. He turned back to Melanie, a pleasant smile on his face.

"She your daughter?" the man said, his voice smooth and relaxed, as he pointed to Amélie.

"She is." Melanie replied. "Isn't she radiant? A little dirty, but that can be fixed easily."

"And she must be Carmen." the man continued, smiling at Carmen. "You did good for yourself, Amélie. Found yourself quite the looker. Wish my wife was that good."

"Your wife if fabulous, Quaid. Don't change a thing about her." Melanie comforted.

Quaid didn't appear to hear her though, his, and his thug's, gaze fixed on Carmen. After a few seconds of silence, Quaid kept moving, his goons following suit. "I'll get out of you girl's hair, let you get ready for the Reaping. Happy Reaping Day!"

Within a minute they had vanished and Amélie said her goodbyes to Carmen. "Can we meet before the Reaping?" Amélie asked.

"Of course." Carmen replied. "Past the check in point? It's a little crowded before that."

"Sure." Amélie said, her nerves showing. "You know how I get with the Reapings."

Carmen looked concerned. "You'll be fine, as usual. You've never had to put in any tessarae."

Amélie looked at her girlfriend, remembering one rage she had flown into, claiming that her mother would rig the Reapings and send Amélie into the Games. Carmen had apologized profusely, but the accusation still lingered in the air.

Leaning in, both girls embraced and kissed. They broke apart and Amélie drifted into her house, closing the door slowly behind her.

"She looks well."

Amélie sighed, knowing what was coming. "She is, and so am I."

"That's good, I suppose." Melanie began, her tone taunting. "I had figured you were too pathetic to last more than a week, but you sure proved me wrong. Six months, shacked up in some shithole with your shitty girlfriend, how remarkable. Maybe your not the stupid, spoiled brat I always thought you were."

"Yes, mother." Amélie muttered, quickly assuming her place as obedient daughter.

"We need to make a good impression at the Reaping." Melanie continued. "They Capitol will be deciding who gets to claim the mayor position as soon as the Games end. Times running out and I need you there to help with my image."

Amélie sighed, her mother's ambition not lost on her or anyone. District 3's previous mayor was apparently involved with the wrong crowds in the Capitol and had been 'removed' from the position. Now, a vacant seat stood in his place and the Capitol was looking for someone to occupy it. Her mother wanted it, oh she wanted it so badly. Her mad ambition was only one of the reasons Amélie had fled this house, one in a long line of personal abuses against herself.

And despite how much she should hate her mother, Amélie could never fully commit. It was a terrible burden, forced to suffer through a mother's abuse yet still feel compelled to love her regardless. Deep down, Amélie only wanted to please her tyrant mother, to gain her love and approval despite the mental tax it took upon her.

It was a sick relationship, but one Amélie wanted to work so badly.

"Rose is upstairs waiting for you." Melanie commented. "Get yourself cleaned and dressed and meet me downstairs in exactly thirty minutes. We'll head to the Reaping early, mingle with some bums, and then make our rounds after the Reaping."

"Yes, mother." Amélie said, her facade of compliance falling over her as she prepared for the day's events.

* * *

_WAAAAAAAAAAAAAH_

_WAAAAAAAAAAAAAH_

_WAAAAAAAAAAAAAH_

_THIS IS NOT A TEST. THE TIME IS CURRENTLY 10:00 A.M., CENTRAL PANEM STANDARD TIME. THIS IS YOUR LOCAL GOVERNMENT INFORMING YOU THAT THE ANNUAL REAPINGS WILL COMMENCE IN EXACTLY TWO HOURS. ALL CITIZENS BETWEEN THE AGES OF TWELVE TO EIGHTEEN ARE REQUIRED BY LAW TO ATTEND. FAILURE TO DO SO WILL RESULT IN PUNISHMENT, DECIDED UPON BY THE HEAD PEACEKEEPER OF THIS DISTRICT._

"Aaaah shut up!" a slurred female voice screamed at the invisible voice. A loud crashing noise was heard in the apartment next door as a bottle smashed against the wall, a futile attack upon the District wide intercom system. It was only the latests addition by the Capitol for their continuing quest of total military rule.

Watt Dresner had been awake for several hours, standing in his bathroom with a blank stare on his face. Sleeping had been a short commodity for him in recent years. When he slept, he only dreamt of those...

_'Those thoughts are best forgotten.'_ Watt thought, pushing down feelings of powerlessness.

His eyes betrayed him though, with massive bags hanging underneath them. He gazed at himself in the handheld mirror, finding himself weak in appearance. His body looked filthy, his blonde hair messy and face appearing disgruntled. Automatically, Watt could see why no one would wish to associate with him.

_'But someone wanted that body, didn't they?'_

_'Yes... they wanted it violently...'_

Watt slammed down the mirror, huffing loudly as he tried to fight off another anxiety attack. Memories flashed through his head of a dark ally way, heavy hands on him, moans of sick pleasure not his own. He wanted to cry out for someone, but he knew that no one was around to hear or care for him.

"WATT!" A voice screamed outside the rusting bathroom door. "Get your ass out of there now!"

Watt composed himself as well as he could, and opened the door to his seventeen year old brother, Cadmium. Immediately, his older brother threw Watt from the bathroom, looking angrily at him.

"You've been in here for almost an hour." Cad shouted at him.

"Sorry." Watt mumbled.

"You were bathing in here again, weren't you?" Cad asked, noticing the wet sink and towels. "Why the hell can't you use the communal showers like the rest of us?"

"You know why." Watt said.

Cad rolled his eyes. "Just get dressed, moron. Then get mom some breakfast. I'm meeting up with a few friends before the Reaping."

"W-will you be back before we leave?" Watt asked.

"Probably not." Cad replied, preparing to slam the door behind him. He looked at his brother though, his face turning to disgust. "God, are you sad that I'm not going to walk you over to the Reaping?"

"N-no." Watt replied, obviously lying.

"Man up, pussy." Cad shouted at his brother. "No one likes a baby."

Cad slammed the door in Watt's face, leaving the young boy distressed. Slowly, he rose and returned to his and Cad's room to dress. Afterwards, Watt went to the apartments small living room, seeing his mom sitting on a rotting chair in front of the heater. She was more a skeleton than a person these days, doing very little except eat, sleep, and stare into the red glow of the heater.

"Mom..." Watt began. "Would you like some food?"

The glow flickered in Telsa's eyes, but they never moved to acknowledge her son's face.

"We still have a loaf of bread left. Dad said to save it for something special, but I don't think-" Watt cut himself off from that thought, tempted to place a hand on his mom's arm. He chickened out though, knowing his mom didn't like people touching her, a sentiment he shared. Mother and son had gone through a similar ordeal two years ago, and both had processed it differently. Watt got by, barely able to function or bond with anyone. Telsa didn't get by, spending every day wasting away mentally and physical.

Watt couldn't blame her though. Her incident had been far worse than his. He could still remember it, how his mom had promised that he would be helped, only to have that dashed when three Peacekeepers stormed into their apartment. Two of them dragged his mom to the bedroom while the third beat Watt senseless.

Even in his fuzzy mind... Watt was still able to hear his mother's screams and the Peacekeepers taunting tones and moans of pleasure...

They left an hour later. An hour after that, Cad and their dad had returned home to find it ransacked, Watt incoherent, and Telsa covered in bruises, blood, and other bodily fluids. Upon seeing his mother like so, Cad had flown into a fury, attacking his younger brother himself, screaming profanities at him.

_'THIS IS YOUR FAULT!' he had screamed. 'SHE WAS TRYING TO HELP YOU! SHE ONLY WENT TO THE PEACEKEEPERS BECAUSE OF YOU! YOU DID THIS TO MOM! YOU FUCKNG BASTARD!'_

"WATT!"

Watt gasped, looking around in a panic, only to find Cad looking at his with anger. "God your worthless." he muttered. "I'll see you later tonight."

Without another look, Cad left Watt and his mother alone. He was unable to spend prolonged periods of time around either one of them. One he couldn't stand to look out for fear of breaking down into tears and the other he couldn't stand for his victimized nature. Watt could understand his brother's pain, but at the same time felt totally humiliated by it. He didn't ask for the incident to occur to him, or for his mom to be raped by Peacekeepers, Watt didn't want any more hardship to fall on his family.

But hardship had come in full fury, generating even more misery in Watt's short life. It was a misery that Watt was forced to suffer through alone as his mom had lost to her own, his dad was never around, and Cad didn't care at all. Sometimes, Watt thought about killing himself. Just removing himself from life's equation entirely. It would make his family's life easier he was sure. Dad would have one less mouth to feed and Cad wouldn't be aggravated all the time. His mom probably wouldn't even know that Watt had gone.

_'No...'_ Watt thought. _'To kill myself would really make me pathetic. Besides, after the incident... killing myself seems like a waste...'_

With what little energy he had, Watt returned to his room to curl up on his springy bed, all so alone in the world.

* * *

Amélie's mother's maternal side was out, and it was absolutely terrifying.

They walked hand in hand towards the Reaping, both of them dressed respectably. Her mother had dressed herself a drab grey gown, a political maneuver that she hoped would appeal to the poor masses while securing her position with the Capitol as sophisticated. Amélie was dressed in a similar manner, though she lacked her mother's happy face.

It seemed as though her mother had to converse to everyone on the street, or at least say something to all of them. It disgusted Amélie that all these citizens saw her as a good person and not the devil she was. How could people not understand that she was playing them? The worst was when the Head Peacekeeper appeared with his entourage and her mother actually seemed to _woe_ him.

Amélie, the people pleaser she was, smiled along with her mother and played the role of good daughter. All the while, she thought about Carmen, getting excited about seeing her again. After the Reaping they'd run off again together, maybe participate in a few of the drab Reaping Festival activities, and fall asleep next to each other in perfect harmony. It was a fantasy that Amélie loved, her and her princess together forever against the cruel world that was Panem. It was hardly the dashing tale from the fairytale books she grew up on, but they made it work. They always had ever since Amélie had found her a year ago after running away from home.

Finally, Amélie was left to move through the check in alone. She silently waited in line, not looking to make herself stand out. She could hardly ignore the intense security the Capitol had rolled out though. Ever since last year's incident with the Anarchists, the District had become far more rebellious. It had died down recently, but one still heard things on the streets. Obviously, the Peacekeepers had caught wind of the rumors and were equipped to deal with anything it seemed.

Once she was checked in, Amélie moved off to the side, nursing her stinging finger. She had never done well with pain. Where was Carmen? Amélie really needed a hug after dealing with her mother for two hours. Eventually, a Peacekeeper came up to her and moved her into the sixteen year old section with the tip of his very big gun. She went quietly, wishing Carmen had showed up.

Within a minute, the stage in front of the Justice Building was filled. Noticeably absent though was the Victor section, highlighting District 3's failure in the Games. Beetee and Wiress had died in the 75th Games while Julia Plasmic had blown herself last year as part of an anarchist plot. It was a grisly event, which took the lives of the escort, a few Peacekeepers, and almost last year's tributes, Ivy Sparks and Wren Makari.

Thinking of the two deceased tributes only made Amélie's skin crawl. Brief images of their demises flashed through Amélie's mind, Wren with his face sliced open and Ivy being dragged to a lake's bottom by a mutt.

"Greetings District 3!" A voice rang out.

The captive audience turned to the source of the voice. Front and center on stage stood a women dressed in all yellow, a nervous smile on her face. She was sore spot among the grays and blacks that surrounded her, something she seemed to be uncomfortably aware of. The audience quickly concluded that this woman was their new escort.

"Happy Hunger Games, everyone!" the escort said, "The seventy-seventh! Can any of you believe it? I remember my first Hunger Games! Well... that I watched. I've obviously never been in the Games myself! Obviously..."

The escort began laughing uneasily, causing a stir to erupt from the crowd. Even the more stoic members on stage couldn't help but look at the woman funny. She began rambling more and more, talking about how appreciative she was of District 3 and it's hard workers. "It's so nice of you to work so hard for us! I know everyone in the Capitol has nothing but love for you guys!"

Tempers were starting to flare as the escort rambled. Was she mocking them? Did she not see how they were forced to live? How nearly half the children in front of her were on the brink of starving? The Head Peacekeeper sensed this demaner change and gave the escort a curt cough to urge her to continue.

"Oh right! The Reaping!" the escort laughed. "Um... ladies or gentlemen? Which usually comes first? Oh... well I guess that's up for me to decide. How about the ladies? Seems only proper, right?"

The escort stumbled over to the Reaping bowl, digging around in it for some time. She eventually drew a name and wabled back over to the microphone, a sharp smile on her face. "And the female tribute is... oh... what a pretty name that is! Wish my parents had been that creative!"

Another cough from the Head Peacekeeper.

"Oh! Um... Amélie Jeanne Sinclair? Is she out there? You've been Reaped, sweetie!"

It was perhaps the kindest invitation given to one going to their death. It hardly made a difference for Amélie though, who felt like her organs had dropped out from her body and were on exposure to everyone. She gasped, attempting to compose herself but failing entirely.

"Amélie? She has to be out there right?" the escort continued. "Everyone has to come to the Reaping, right?"

_'Carmen...'_ Amélie began to think. _'She can save me! Where is she? Where is she?!'_

Peacekeepers had found her. They were breaking through the crowd of teenagers to drag her to the stage. To drag her to her death!

"Carmen!" Amélie began screaming, trying to run away. "CARMEN WHERE ARE YOU!"

Amélie kept running, but the Peacekeepers grabbed her anyways. Before long they had her dragged out from the crowd, kicking and screaming for Carmen to save her. Somewhere in the distance it sounded like someone else was screaming, but they were too far away to help.

Amélie was dragged up the stairs and hurled onto the stage, collapsing at the feet of the escort. The escort looked just as scared as Amélie, unsure of what to do with an unruly tribute.

"Please!" Amélie begged. "There must be some sort of mistake! I can't be Reaped! I can't be Reaped!"

The Peacekeepers had returned, their heavy hands lifting her from the ground and forcing her to her feet. Amélie continued to cry, but she didn't try to run away.

"How about the boys then?" the escort said, her annoying nervous laugh following. Faster than the girl's, the escort drew the boy's slip of paper and read it off without delay.

"Watt Dresner! Please step forward!"

There was a lull as the boy's section tried to find Watt. Finally, a trimmed, blonde haired boy stepped forward from the fifteen year old section. He looked well fed, though ruffled by emotions, and had the typical, puberty induced acne dotted on his face. Still, those dark rings around his eyes were more than just fear. There was something more to the boy... something darker.

It seemed as though this Reaping was to go smoother than Amélie's, but just as quickly it started going downhill. Once he was front and center, Watt finally realized what had happened to him. He had been Reaped. He was going into the Hunger Games. He was going to die in the Hunger Games!

But someone could save him.

"CAD!" Watt screamed out. "Cad, help me!"

The discomfort of the crowd was at a high, none of them able to meet Watt's desperate eyes. He was looking for only one pair of eyes though, that of his brother. His seventeen year old brother who could volunteer for Watt and save him!

But no one stepped forward.

"Cad, please!" Watt continued to scream as Peacekeepers began dragging him to the stage as well. "I DON'T WANT TO DIE, CAD! I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"

Before he knew it, Watt was on stage, crying in front of all of Panem. His teary eyes gazed over the seventeen year old section, desperately searching for his brother. This wasn't suppose to happen! Older siblings _always_ volunteered for their younger siblings! Watt could remember his first Reaping, how Cad had promised if Watt's name was called, he would volunteer for brother.

But that was three years ago, before the incident occurred and his connection with his brother died.

The escort's languishing sigh was audible over the microphone, her displeasure with District 3's tributes clear. "Well that was... trying I suppose."

She paused for a moment, irritated by the incessant crying of her tributes. Watt's crying had intensified as he finally found Cad, who was doing everything he could to not look at his brother, along with Amélie's, who was still unable to find Carmen in the crowd.

"Why don't you two shake hands and we can finish this up?" the escort suggested.

"FUCK YOU, CAD!" Watt screeched, an accusing finger pointed at the crowd. "GO TO HELL YOU FUCKING BASTARD!"

The Head Peacekeeper rose from his seat angrily, ordering his men to drag the tributes into the Justice Building and prepare them for the goodbyes. Both tributes went compliantly, though Watt continued to scream obscenities at his brother while Amélie continued to cry.

"I just had to get Bloodbath's my first year." the escort mumbled, forgetting that the microphone was still on.

* * *

**District** **4**

Far from the polluted city District stood a young man on a beach. The cool sea breeze blew past him, causing the blue sea flowers to sway and specks of sand to fly about. The day was overcast, an imperfect representation for the day's mood though perfect for the young man's. Grief rippled through him, though at the same time a joy for being close to one lost not too long ago.

A small, marble plaque rested in front of him, a name etched into it.

_SUE O'BRIEN_

Eighteen year old Ansel Gephardt stood over the grave of his deceased wife, his blue eyes tearing up and threatening to spill onto his caramel skin. They had only known each other for a year and a half and been married for seven weeks, but in that time she had become the most important person in his life. With a quick sniff, he sucked his emotion back in and laid down flowers onto his wife's grave.

"Today's the day, Sue." he spoke softly. "It's Reaping Day."

Light reflected off the cleaned marble, along with the reflection of Ansel's face.

"I wanted to... well I don't know what to say really." Ansel commented. Silence fell over the two of them, though it was a comfortable silence. When she was alive, Sue would often remark that comfortable silence could be the best thing between two people. It let the other act as a silent supporter of their loved one, letting them know that they would always be there for the other.

That was just like Sue... always looking to support others while she herself slowly died. Terminal leukemia devastated her body, leaving her in constant agony. Her body swelled in parts, while at the same time starving her. Her blood cells turned against her, her entire body did.

But she never gave up, she kept helping others and tried to make their lives better. Her resilience, her strength were only a few of the many traits Ansel loved about her.

"I just wanted to say that... that I love you." Ansel continued. "With all my heart. And if I were to die in the arena, then my only consolation would be I'd be with you again."

Awkwardly, Ansel leaned down to the grave, thinking about kissing the plaque. He stopped at the last moment, rising quickly and turning to leave. Death was always a tricky subject for children trained in the Academy. Everyone knew death was a real possibility for them, but no one wanted to discuss it. Even bringing it up caused all sorts of awkward situations.

But that was the nature of Careers, always fickle and prone to anger at any real world consequences. Such a dispute was the way he had met Sue in the first place. A public fight with a kid in his Academy Class, Cliff, had resulted in both of them getting arrested by the Peacekeepers. Due to their public profile, the Academy, and Ansel's Victor father, had pulled a few strings and gotten the boys into community service programs. It was a rare gift and Ansel could tell that the Head Peacekeeper, Romana, was none too thrilled by the prospect. She much preferred bloody, public punishment.

Ansel had attended the community service without much enthusiasm, forced to take care of a bunch of kids at an orphange. That's where he had met Sue, dressed in rags yet still looking radiant. She wasn't the standard definition of beauty, her face plain and body leaving much to be desired, but Ansel found himself instantly drawn to her. She didn't care for him much though, and Ansel soon figured out it was because he was more interested in her than the children she cared about. Once that was rectified, Sue finally began to see Ansel. Slowly, he began turning his back on his Career training in order to gain the admiration of Sue.

About a year into their relationship, Sue confessed her dark secret of leukemia. She couldn't be saved, the necessary medicine unavailable in the District. There wasn't a cure anyways, Sue would only be buying time, her life filled with constant appointments and rounds of chemical therapy.

That wasn't how Sue wanted to live the rest of her life. She preferred to spend her final days doing what she had always done, helping others.

Ansel had been stunned by the news and had rashly proposed to her. Sue agreed, much to everyones surprise. Ansel had been known for rash decisions, but Sue was always careful and thought through everything she did. Still, her grieving parents were eager to accommodate their dying daughter and granted her request of marriage. No one had been particularly joyous at their wedding except for the bride and groom.

Wandering back through the District, Ansel was met with mixed reactions by the local populace. For the most part, people were courteous and respectful to him. They knew he'd be this years volunteer for the Games and had been well trained, giving the District a strong chance in the Games. They also knew about Sue, which allowed them to extend pity to him. District 4 was wealthy, but everyone had felt death's untimely touch upon their family.

On the other hand, others in the District looked upon Ansel with jealously. He was a boy whose father was Victor and mother one of the wealthiest socialites in the District. Ansel hadn't wanted for much growing up and that alone was worth the mire of many in the District. Still, Ansel was respectful to everyone he met and never insulted. Sue had set him straight in that manner, as she had many things.

Ansel finally made his way back to Trident Square, the wealthiest section of District 4 where his mother lived. When he was ten years old, his mother and father had divorced, his mom moving back to her home in Trident. Ansel had chosen to live with her, reasoning that he could still be able to see his father and spend time with him in the Academy. Ansel's father didn't seem to be too upset at his son, just happy that he was pursuing his Career training.

Upon walking up to his house, Ansel caught the eye of his neighbor, Ariana Mendez. Tentatively, the two of them exchange quick nods. They had used to date for a while before Ansel met Sue. Ariana had never thought much of Sue, thinking her to good willed to live in Panem, but she had been there for Ansel when she passed. Neither said anything to the other. It didn't bother Ansel much, he had a feeling he'd be seeing her post-Reaping. Besides, it appeared he had someone more important to deal with on his front step.

"Dad." Ansel said, giving a small smile.

Wesley Gephardt stood with his arms crossed in front of the house. He was a tall, broad shouldered man in his early forties with darker skin than Ansel's. His gaze too was harsher than Ansel's had ever been. People had often commented that Ansel had his father's ambitions and his mother's looks. Ansel didn't blame them, the physical resemblance between father and son lay only in hair color, eye color, and height.

The respect for his father in the District was immense as he was the first District 4 Career Victor. He had won the 53rd Hunger Games, which had taken place in an arena with three active volcanos and rivers of magma everywhere. The arena was a hellscape and generally considered one of less popular Games, thanks to a third of the tributes dying from suffocation on volcanic ash. The most epic, and arguably only epic, moment from the 53rd Games was Wesley's victory kill. After a long battle with the District 2 female, Wesley had managed to disarm his fellow Career with his mace. Instead of finishing her off there, Wesley grab her hair dragged her to a nearby magma river to dangle her over it. She never touched the magma, but the heat from it caused her clothing, and thus her skin, to begin burning, killing her slowly until she had burned to a crisp.

"Your mother has a few of her friends over." Wesley said, disapproval clear in his voice. He had never been one social events, one of the main reasons for his declining popularity in the Capitol. "Thought it best if I stayed outside."

"Probably for the best." Ansel replied, his smile widening. "Remember the brunch incident when I turned thirteen?"

Wesley chuckled, showing his softer side only for his son. "Yeah. I thought your mom was going to kill me then and there. Rather go back in the arena than face her mad."

"She can be scary." Ansel agreed.

"Wives, am I right?" Wesley asked.

Ansel paused, trying to offer his dad a supportive smile. Wesley saw through it, knowing Sue had been nothing like his own wife. He had never fully approved of his son's marriage, preferring his son keep his relations with girls as shallow as possible. That wasn't cruel in Wesley's mind, only practical since at eighteen Ansel would be fighting for his life. Secretly, Wesley felt a certain joy that Sue had passed. If his son died in the Games, Wesley wouldn't have to worry about caring for a grieving wife.

Only his own, and himself.

"Anyways," Wesley continued. "I thought I'd support you today and walk with you to the Reaping."

"Thanks." Ansel said, genuinely happy to have a loved one with him. "The other Victors won't mind?"

"They'll be fine. I'm getting old anyways and the Capitol likes looking at our younger Victors anyways. No reason for my untouched face to be front and center." Wesley said, his rare dry humor out. He had allowed for some minor plastic surgery on himself, but for the most part had aged properly. "Besides, today I'm more of a father than a Victor."

Ansel smiled brightly, though he knew what this all meant. His father, while a good man to Ansel, had never been one for such open displays of paternal affection. The only other times Ansel could remember that happening was when he first entered the Academy and at Sue's funeral. Obviously, Wesley was worried about his son's life, as if it was just hitting him that he could lose Ansel within the next two weeks.

"That means a lot, dad. Thanks." Ansel responded.

Wesley moved away from the door and stood in front of his son, a supportive hand placed on Ansel's shoulder. It was done slowly and both father and son felt awkward for this intimate moment.

"I know you've been having... reservation about the Games." Wesley said. "And I know that ever since Sue... you haven't entirely been devoted to your Career training."

Ansel nodded his head in agreement, oblivious to his dad's personal dislike of that. Sue's strong stance against the Games was yet another reason he did not fully approve of the girl.

"But I just want you to know, that winning the Games is about more than just helping yourself." Wesley continued. "If you win, that means that all of District 4 will be helped. And you know what?"

Wesley paused, long enough for Ansel to look confused. "What?" he finally asked.

"N-nothing." Wesley said. He knew what he might have said would only serve to infuriate his son. "Why don't you get changed? I left you a gift in your room, thought you'd appreciate it."

"I'm sure I will." Ansel said, his smile returning. "I'll be back in a few."

Ansel walked quickly to the door, eager to see what his dad had left him. As he opened the it, Wesley suddenly called out once more.

"And Ansel," he began, looking at his son with care. "I'm proud of you, and I love you."

Ansel blinked a few times, thrown off entirely by his dad's attitude. "Thanks. I love you too." he replied, closing the door behind him with a confused look on his face.

Wesley watched the door close behind his son, smiling sadly and knowing that this was the last time Ansel would be free.

* * *

Men were so terribly predictable.

And stupid.

Oh so stupid.

Some loose fitting clothing, show a little skin, bring a bottle of cheap wine, and men could be played so easily. The development contractor right in front of her, half way through the bottle of wine now, was such a man. A man who spent all his time in his dingy office, sweating his days away inside with a stiff tie around his neck and a stiffer wife at home. All he really wanted was a distraction from his life, something that Brielle was willing to accommodate for.

"More wine?" Brielle asked, her voice purposely low and seductive.

The contractor, whose name was unimportant, smiled happily. He raised his glass up, eagerly awaiting for it to be filled. It was currently extended over a downward facing portrait of his family, which he had hastily done once Brielle had walked in.

"You're a real special woman..." the contractor murmured, giggling as he continued to sip from his glass.

Brielle laughed. "Thank you. I aim to please." she responded, pretending to take a sip from the wine bottle. This man clearly thought her a woman, even though she was a mere sixteen years of age. It was for sure the height that did it, with her towering over six feet. Brielle had long thought that men wouldn't find her attractive for it, but a few years on the job and she had found men were actually into that. They fancied it good sport, of a sort, to conquer her, a mountain among woman.

"Have a story?" the man asked.

"Sorry?" she asked.

"A story." The man laughed. "You know any good stories to tell as we drink?"

Raising an eyebrow, Brielle shook her head at the man's odd question. "Afraid not." She replied, "What about you? I'm sure you've got plenty from working at the site."

The contractor laughed. "None worth mentioning... c'mon... you must 'ave something!"

Brielle wrinkled her nose in disgust. Stories weren't her forte, nor had they been a big part of her life. Her mother hadn't been around long enough to tell them, what with her untimely death and all. Her father had a few stories to tell her and her brother, but those mainly consisted of killing and torturing people. Hardly the story this man was looking for.

"Sorry. All out." Brielle said, raising her voice up to sound innocent and sad.

He bought it, leaning forward for more wine and to extend a comforting hand to Brielle. "C'mon," he tried again. "Everyone has a story! Life's a story when you think about it!"

Brielle laughed at the man who thought himself philosophical. "Well..." she began. "I could make a story."

"How so?"

"To be more accurate... _we_ could make a story for you to tell." Brielle tantalized. "A story for you to tell all your friends. A story to make them all jealous. To make your wife jealous."

The contractor laughed like an immature child, his face red with anticipation. "I-I'd like that!" he stuttered, his hand's already looking clammy.

"Ok." Brielle murmured. "Why don't you finish off that wine first, let me just... pucker these lips up."

"Yeah... yeah you should do that." the contractor breathed.

"Do you have a preference?" Brielle asked, pulling out two black market lip glosses from her bag. "Sea Lavender or Ocean's Salt?"

"I... I don't know what e-either of them are..." the contractor said, laughing hysterical as so. Brielle laughed with him and got up from her seat, making a beeline for his bathroom. With a blow of a kiss, Brielle shut the door behind her, letting out an exhaustive sigh as she played the waiting game. She unclipped her purse again and pulled out a stopwatch, waiting for two minutes to turn into zeros.

Without much thought, Brielle turned on the tank sourced, tap water and sat down on the plastic toilet. She brought her nails to her mouth, biting down on them softly in impatience. After thirty seconds, she stopped herself, angry that she still continued such an activity.

As she waited for two minutes to be up, Brielle thought about what the contractor had said about stories. It was a drunken statement, and Brielle wasn't inclined to think much of those, but it was still interesting. Brielle had certainly lived an interesting life in her short time. It wouldn't have made for a good story though as it was ridden with despair inducing moments and paired with gore. Assassination, familicide, deception, she had it all in her personal history arsenal. Brielle knew she probably needed years of therapy to recover, but knew what a waste it would be.

But who would want to hear about that? Nobody cared for grief unless it directly affected them.

The stopwatch hit zero and Brielle exited the bathroom. She tisked when she saw the sight in front of her, her booted foot kicking the smashed wine bottle to the side.

"I could have used that bottle again, you know?" she asked the corpse of the contractor. "It's not easy getting wine anymore."

The contractor was lying on the ground, his sweaty belly blotted and darkened by poison. It attacked the intestinal tract quickly, destroying it, the kidneys, and liver all within minutes of consumption. The target either died from shock, violent bowel movements, or even heart attack if it moved through the bloodstream well enough.

Brielle didn't stick around to find out which it was. She moved behind his desk, grabbed the blueprints, stuffed them into a construction bag, and left the hot, fanless office.

Peeling off her worn gloves, Brielle relished in the post operation spike of adrenaline. She had killed her target, gotten the information she needed, and hadn't left any evidence behind. Brielle figured it would be a good three days before construction at the site continued, meaning it be three days before the body was discovered. By that time, any lead to her would be long gone. Peter had promised to send a crew to burn the place to the ground, destroying anything in the off chance Brielle had messed up.

She hadn't.

A short walk later and Brielle was back at her homebase by the docks. The air was permanently stained with the smell of rotting fish, tainting everything within a few blocks of the docks and giving the citizens a very distinct smell. Brielle could see fishermen leaving their boats from the morning fishing runs. Meanwhile on the horizon, transport ships brought citizens from other parts of the District to the main city for the Reaping.

Pulling out her key, Brielle entered her shared shack with a smile, seeing her housemates sitting at their metal table. Her smiling widening, she pulled out the contractor's plans from her bag.

"All good." She said, dropping them on the table.

The two men, Peter and Fehlix, looked at both the plans and Brielle happily. "Well done." Peter, the twenty one head of house, said with a smile. He stood up from his seat, giving Brielle a quick kiss.

Fehlix observed the plans closely, a plan coming to mind. "I'll make the adjustments to them after the Reaping." The eighteen year old said. "We'll give them to the boss by nights end."

It was a happy proposal that brought with it the promise of another well deserved pay check. Peter stopped for a moment, giving Brielle a serious look. "Did you kill him?"

Brielle shrugged dismissively. "Killed him." She replied. "He was a dirty man anyways. Plus, his death will delay construction even longer, giving the boss more time to act."

"True." Peter remarked. "He's getting nervous about this resort, isn't he?"

"A bunch of rich Capitolites, coming to it to spend money and gamble?" Fehlix observed. "The boss is probably shitting himself with anticipation. Think of the money he could get out of it."

"Probably." Brielle commented, reluctant to think of their employer as their boss. The title of 'boss' implied ownership and Brielle was not into that. She had worked to hard to be free of an overbearing and tyrannical father.

Brielle turned to leave the room, in preparation to get changed into her Reaping attire. "Hey," Peter called out, before she could. Brielle turned to him, a faint smile on her face. "Are you still planning on volunteering?"

With a sigh, Brielle nodded her head. "I am."

"Still any chance I could change your mind?" Peter asked, already knowing he couldn't.

Brielle only confirmed that with a shake of her head. "I'm doing this, Peter." She said defiantly.

Without another word, Brielle left the room and entered her own. The adrenaline from the kill earlier had left her body, leaving her wanting for more. Adrenaline was more addicting than any drug and was certainly easier and less lethal in nature.

_'I'll be getting plenty of that in the arena.'_ Brielle thought to herself.

She was no fool, she knew that the chance of her surviving wasn't the best. Still, she couldn't deny her the promise of the Games was tempting. Freedom forever, if she became Victor. All her life she had lived under the rule of someone else, never truly being free. It had been her dream and her dead brother, Tiberius, dream to be free of commitment and serving someone other than themselves.

Tiberius could no longer achieve that dream, but Brielle could for both of them. She thought she had achieved that once she was rid of her father, but before long she had fallen on hard times and was forced to take up her old occupation. Her father had taught her well, teaching her how to kill and fight as part of her service to him. He had been well involved in the growing game of politics in District 4, as citizens vied for power and prestige in the Capitol's eye. Apparently it was a similar case in District 1, with the elite killing and deceiving one another in order to become the most powerful members in their District.

Brielle had been and was currently a cog in the machine, a tool for someone to achieve their goals of power. She didn't mind the work, finding it intriguing and fun, but she hated working for others. Brielle wanted to be a player herself, to achieve power herself.

It was an opportunity that the Games could provide, an opportunity that Brielle would seize at full.

* * *

The Reaping began, along with the applause from the audience. Most of it was genuine cheer, though some Ansel could tell was forced. The mayor, a stout elderly man who looked like he should have died years ago, began slowly reading off the Treaty Treason before adding his own thoughts about obedience to the Capitol.

Ansel could also tell that the majority of the audience was becoming bored, wanting for the proceeding to end so they could be free. Still, many people had vested their interest in him though, offering him smiles and nods of approval. Ansel felt joy at such recognition, proud to be wearing the same suit that his dad had worn at his Reaping. It was a nice gift, far better than Ansel thought his dad would provide. Another reason people were looking was probably the chained wedding ring around his neck. Ansel had wanted people to know he had been proudly married and still loved Sue.

_'When people pay attention to you, make sure you use that attention for something worthwhile.'_

Ansel smiled, remembering that piece of advice Sue had dropped on him one day. He remembered that was from the early days of meeting her, when a bunch of his female 'supporters' had arrived outside of the orphanage to shower him in love. Sue had been dismissive of the girls and Ansel's attempts at impressing her.

_'Instead of teasing them, you could have suggested they make a donation to the orphanage.' Sue had said, 'Or better yet, volunteer themselves! The kids here love teenagers to look up too.'_

_'So they look up to me?' Ansel asked, a sly smile on his face. He had her in the palm of his hand, he just knew it!_

_'No.' Sue replied, unfazed by Ansel's attempts at seduction. 'You're a great poster child for not liking the Games though!'_

_Ansel scoffed. 'Who doesn't like the Games?' he asked._

_Sue looked at Ansel with a pitying gaze. 'You poor fool.'_

_'Poor beautiful fool, you mean, right?' Ansel asked._

_Sue rolled her eyes and reentered the orphanage, praying that Ansel's service would get cut short and he'd leave her at peace._

Ansel laughed at the memory, his mind lingering on Sue's opposition to the Games. He had heard all of Sue's protests against the Games, some of which he had come to agree with. Quickly afterwards though he would convince himself that Sue didn't understand, no she _refused_ to understand, how important they were for District 4.

_'You could always back out now.'_ A voice in Ansel's head said. _'No shame in it. Your grief for Sue is a compelling enough reason.'_

_'And let some other child, who is unprepared, go into the Games?'_ another voice said. _'That's even more irresponsible.'_

Ansel shook of those thoughts. He was going into the Games, and nothing was going to change that.

The mayor's speech finally ended to the approval of the crowd and the Capitol's short film about the Games. Then came the Reaping, starting with the girls.

There was a murmur of concern from children and adults at the female Reaping. District 4 had no currently viable eighteen year old to send into the Games, so the District had elected for a seventeen year old girl to enter the Games. The girl, Lauri, was not ready for the Games and everyone, including her, knew it. It was the best the District could offer though.

The escort took a slip of paper from the female bowl and read off the slip's name happily. "Rosalyn Driftwood!" she called out.

There was no movement in the girl's section as Rosalyn clearly expected Lauri to volunteer. After ten seconds of no call out, Rosalyn was forced to show herself to the cameras and the Peacekeepers. She stepped out of the fourteen year old section, her body frail with wiry haired running down her back. Her grimy appearance suggesting someone who lived on the docks and had lacked proper nutrition for quite sometime. Many people, including Ansel, sighed, knowing she wouldn't last long in the Games.

"I volunteer!"

Heads turned to find the voice, Ansel brightening as he did so. Lauri wasn't his first pick for a District partner, but she was better than some dock girl. Within moments, Ansel saw that it wasn't Lauri who appeared, but a giant girl from the sixteen year old section instead. She had to be well over six feet tall, with brown skin and black hair flowing lazily down her back. She wore as sleeveless, knee length dress that showed off her toned arms and legs nicely. Oddly though, it also exposed a several scars littered across her arms.

The girl walked with confidence towards the stage, no regret visible in her face. Her aura of strength was overwhelming for some, who stepped back as she walked down the center aisle for the stage. Along the way, she passed Rosalyn, who was crying tears of relief.

"Thank you!" she breathed, her voice trembling. "I-I thought I'd have to... you know..."

Ansel couldn't hear what the girl replied in her soft voice, but it seemed to please Rosalyn who smiled and stepped back into her section. The girl made her way to the stage, climbing the stairs easily with her long legs. Once on stage, her size was a little less evident, thanks to the escort's massive heels.

"And who might you be, dear?" she asked.

"Brielle Purslane." the girl said.

"Do you mind if I ask why you volunteered?" the escort followed up.

Brielle shrugged. "I've got nothing to lose. Besides, District 4 could use a victory and I know I'm the girl to do it."

That got the audience riled up, who immediately began cheering for Brielle. She accepted their praise with a grandiose gesture of thanks before stepping to the side. Ansel rolled his eyes, unable to keep feelings of jealously towards this girl bottled up. He had been training for years for the position of tribute, and this girl just got it without a fuss!

There was something odd though with the other people on stage. All of the government officials looked at Brielle with extreme concern. Most of them were mumbled to one another, pointing accusing fingers at Brielle. The Head Peacekeeper seemed flustered by her appearance as well, calling over one of her troops and whispering something into his ear. He ran off to do whatever task Romana had appointed.

The cheers died down and the escort moved to the boys bowl. She called out a name and Ansel quickly shouted his will to volunteering. As he walked down the aisle, people had already begun cheering for him and even chanting his name in some spots. He looked up at the stage, happy to see his dad clapping with a smile as his son ascending the stage.

"And what's your name, sweetie?"

"Ansel Gephardt."

"Gephardt?" the escort said, shocked. "As in Victor Gephardt, Gephardt?"

Ansel laughed lightly. "That's right. I'm the proud son of Wesley Gephardt!"

"Well isn't that something special?" The escort commented, pleased with this development. She spared Brielle a look to see how she was taking the news, happy to see that she seemed unaffected by the development. "Now then, District 4, I present your proud tributes for the 77th Hunger Games! Brielle Purslane and Ansel Gephardt! Shake hands you two!"

As the crowd cheered for them, the two tributes shook hands respectfully. Ansel felt spots of red on his cheek, slightly embarrassed that Brielle had a good five or six inches on him. Brielle seemed to be thinking the same thing, a smug smile plastered on her face. Neither said anything to the other, they'd have plenty of time for that soon.

As Ansel stood on stage, absorbing the cheers of the crowd, he knew that one person was looking down at him with disappointment. Sue was up there, gazing down and judging him. She had never approved of the Games, finding that the end result of District prosperity did not justify the means of killing innocent children.

_'Violence only causes violence.'_ she had once told Ansel. _'It is a cycle that can never be broken unless all sides are willing to lay down their weapons. Unless they are willing to accept the most terrifying prospect.'_

_'And what is that?'_ Ansel had asked.

_'To give peace a try.'_ Sue replied. _'To trust your former or supposed enemies. Trusting people to act good is perhaps the scariest and most unpredictable thing in the world.'_

Ansel had never told Sue this, but he never believed that peace would be a viable option. Panem wasn't unique in its use of violence. From the stories he had heard, before the era of Panem, the old world had been plagued by violence and oppression as well. It was humanity's nature to be violent and think of peace later.

It was only with this knowledge that Ansel felt he could compete in the Games. Could kill in the Games and return a Victor to his District.

Even though he would shun the memory of his late wife.

* * *

**__****_Quick note that I want to make about the D4 Female spot. Seven authors submitted to the spot, so choosing it was extremely difficult. I'm sorry if you didn't receive the spot, but the competition was fierce.   
_**

**__****_Also, in note about how some of these descriptions seem like very brief overviews... they are. Reaping Chapters are massive info dumps on you guys, trying to walk a fine line between necessary information on tributes and getting to know their personalities. Plus, I always go back in future chapters and give flashbacks and greater detail to these tributes. You don't get to know everything about a person the first time you meet them, same with fictional characters. Still, I hope you guys enjoyed!_**

**_Up Next: District 5 and District 6_**

**_Tributes: Fuze/Jory and Trent/Flux_**


	4. D5 & D6: The Oppressed Souls

**_OK! NOBODY READ UNTIL YOU DO THIS (or read first and then go check it out, but JUST CHECK IT OUT!)_**

**_A loyal reader, Axe Smelling God, has created a blog for the 77th Games! On there are model representations of the tributes, basic stats about them, and little goodies for the Games coming up. The blog will be an ongoing process throughout the Games and will be updated accordingly. Big round of applause for Axe Smelling God. I love it and you guys should love it too!_**

**_The link to it is on my profile, under my current status and under _Fan Stuff_. Here's the link now, but you might have trouble since Fanfiction isn't a fan of full websites in chapters. You know the drill, just delete the spaces and put http in front of the :_**

**_ : / / 77thhungergamesthedammed . blogspot . c o m_**

**_On with the story!_**

* * *

**Chapter 3 The Oppressed Souls**

**District 5**

"You got it?"

Colby looked at Jory with a hint of annoyance. "Of course I do." he replied. "I told you earlier, didn't I? You could count on me."

Jory rolled her eyes, her favorite expression to use. Colby was a lot of things and 'unreliable' was one of them. Still, he seemed to have pulled this off, judging by his stupid smirk.

Sophia and Alexis, the two others in their group of misfits, looked surprised as well. "So where is it?" Sophia asked bluntly.

Cautiously, Colby checked around the corner of the damp ally way they were in. When the coast was clear, Colby turned to his friends and pulled out a box of rolled and stuffed papers from his pocket.

"The guy who sold them said they were top quality cigarettes." Colby explained, his pride on full displayed. "Got them at a great price too."

"I bet it's still shit compared to the real stuff." Jory said, hating pride on anyone. "And that he tells everyone his shitty products are top quality. Did he make you pay twenty for them?"

Sophia giggled as Colby looked upset at Jory. He didn't bother to reply that he had to pay higher than twenty for them, knowing that Jory would rip him apart for it. "You're welcome, by the way." he managed, his anger sounding weak. "It wasn't easy getting my hands on this, by the way."

"Oh please." Jory countered, grabbed the pack from his hands. "The Peacekeepers don't care about the black market this week. They're to busy getting ready for the Reaping."

Colby looked even more downtrodden then usually, especially hurt by Jory's harsh words. Without another glance at him, Jory reached into her tattered pocket and pulled out a damaged lighter. "Stole it from the store." Jory said, in reference to the lighter. "Their prices are ridiculous anyways."

"They're only ridiculous because of the Capitol. You know that right?" Alexis said, his voice soft and controlled like an educator.

All of them knew that, and that cigarettes were deemed illegal. The four fifteen year olds didn't know if that ban applied to all Districts or just District 5, but none of them really cared. Anything beyond the borders of District 5 seemed pointless to worry about. It wasn't like they would ever be able to visit them anyways.

In fact, none of them fully understood their desire to try such a dangerous substance. The four teens were not backwater, outlier kids with no education. They knew full well the risks that tobacco consumption brought. The only explanation that Jory could muster was that it was an act of rebellion on their part. It was the only way that they could currently defy the Capitol.

Even though they didn't know what substitute the dealer had used to replace natural tobacco.

And that they were conducting their 'rebellion' in the early morning, in a back ally, with sewage overflowing from some nearby pipes.

_'How brave of us.'_ Jory thought bitterly.

"So, who wants to go first?" Alexis asked.

Jory looked at him, rolling her eyes at his timid nature. He hadn't changed much from when she first found him, surrounded by bullies and completely helpless. Jory wasn't one for bullies and quickly chased them off. Her anger towards them was only redirected towards Alexis, as she besmirched him for acting so cowardly and not standing up for himself. Alexis had actually argued back at Jory, at least attempting to defend himself. It surprised Jory so much that she gained some respect for the boy, enough to keep him around at least.

"I'll go." Jory said, pulling out a cigarette from the dirty packet. She placed it in between her lips and handed the packet to Sophia, who pulled one out as well. With a flick, a small flame erupted and lit the tip of the cigarette. Jory wasn't entirely sure _what_ she was supposed to do, but figured that inhaling was a good start. She took a long drag from the cigarette, feeling the smoke fill her lungs, along with warmth spreading through her body. There was a moment too where she felt totally relaxed, a smile coming to her face.

Then a fit of coughing began and the moment was ruined.

Sophia giggled softly and took the lighter from Jory's trembling, olive skinned hands. "My turn." she announced, lighting up quickly.

The packet was passed around, each of them finishing off their respective cigarettes within minutes. Jory coughed harshly as she finished, stuffing the remaining cigarettes in her pocket. She didn't think she'd ever smoke again, but the option was always nice to have.

The four teens talked for a while among themselves, discussing anything that wasn't related to the upcoming Reaping. Not that there was much to talk about, and the teens soon found themselves forced to discuss pointless teen drama. Who was dating who, who was failing school, who was having sex and who wasn't, it was the same bullshit as always and it annoyed Jory to no end.

Finally, she had enough and dismissed herself from the group. The rest of the group took her cue and began to disperse back to their homes. Sophia walked with Jory, their shacks of homes close by. Behind them, Alexis had already left, but Colby remained in place, staring at Jory with puppy dog eyes.

Sophia gave him and then Jory a look. "So Colby seemed off or something." Sophia stated.

Jory rolled her eyes, knowing she couldn't stop the inquisition. "He wants more from our arrangement." Jory replied.

"Really? I thought you guys were already having sex?" Sophia said, instantly picking up on what that 'more' was.

"Of course we aren't." Jory shot back, anger flashing crossing her features. She knew it misplaced though. Colby and her were in a 'all sexual, no feelings' relationship, but Jory wasn't able to find herself committing to the sexual part. Perhaps she just found Colby so inadequate that the thought him inside of her made her want to kill herself.

_'Yeah… that's probably what it is…'_ Jory thought to herself.

"He wants a relationship, actually." She commented.

Sophia laughed. "Colby? That sounds odd of him." She said, pausing a moment before following up. "And what do you want?"

Jory shrugged. "To be honest, I'm bored with him."

Sophia rolled her eyes. "You're always bored, Jory." she said.

It was true. Jory had a hard time paying attention to things. Her mom and dad had dismissed it as a mid-puberty thing, her simply going through the motions of growth and maturity. But Jory knew they were wrong, this was who she was.

Life was just so tiring and predictable. Jory only had to look around her to find out what her life would come too. She would spend the rest of her life living the dumps, unable to obtain any type of 'golden future' that all her teachers promised she would get. The highest spot she could get was factory manager. If she worked hard. Extremely hard. Despite how idiotic it was, there was a certain prejudice against Jory and the fellow citizens of her section of District 5.

District 5 was divided into various 'Nodes', each of these Nodes specializing in a specific type of energy source. The richest Node was the Solar Node, where the skies were almost constantly blue and the surrounding area relatively green. It offered the best lifestyle, where workers were paid the highest, lived the most comfortably, and got some escape from the constricting city. It was so beautiful that the Justice Building and Victor Village were located there. The next richest was the Wind Node, then the Hydro Node, the Coal/Oil Node, and then Jory's Node, the Nuclear Node.

And surrounding the various nuclear reactors there was Radon Town, the poorest area of District 5.

The area was called that because it looked as though a bomb had dropped on the town. In fact, Radon Town did have bombs dropped on it during the Dark Days, completely obliterating the area. The town used to have large, imposing buildings made of stone and beautiful gardens throughout. All of that was gone though, the stone buildings turned to rumble and sad reminders of grander times while the gardens turned to ash. The homes were now shacks or tents, most citizens living in the dirt and around garbage fires. Most people died from disease, or even burns from the reactor. The majority in Radon were either homeless or factory workers. Anyone of note lived in a different Node, taking the District trolley to and from work everyday.

Since there was such a large social stigma against anyone from Radon, Jory wouldn't be respected by workers in the other Nodes. Three generations of her family had tried to escape Radon; all of them had failed spectacularly. Jory didn't want to spend her life reaching for a spot in society she would never receive. She'd rather get comfortable early in life so she wouldn't be too upset in twenty years.

If she even survived that long. Crime was becoming a major problem in District 5, specifically in the Nuclear Node. But since it was largely confined there, to the poorest of the poor, no Peacekeepers or government officials felt much need to act.

"See you at the Reaping?" Jory asked, tone noncommittal as they walked past her house.

"Doubt it," Sophia replied. "It's my sister's first year so I'm going to be dealing with her."

"Say no more." Jory said. "I'll let you deal with that alone."

They waved goodbye and Jory entered her slum house. It was only seven in the morning, but already the Edmonds house active with life. The house itself was only two rooms, so no one slept when one person was awake. As she entered, her four other family members turned to look at their youngest member.

"And where were you, young lady?" Jory's mother asked.

Jory shrugged. "Out with Sophia."

"At this hour?" she asked.

"Why not?"

Jory's mother stopped, too flustered to continue grilling her daughter. Meanwhile, her older brothers, Hermes and Simon, looked at her knowingly, one approving and the other disapproving. Her father said nothing, his eyes lost in thought.

"As usual, we don't have much for food." Jory's mother continued. "You'll have to wait until after the Reaping to eat."

"Ok." Jory replied simply.

"And we're leaving for trolley in half hour. Go wash and put on your dress, now."

Sighing at all that work, Jory made her way to the backyard where the tub was. She spared her brothers a glance, both of them looking so similar yet so dissimilar in attitude.

Hermes, twenty years old, was different from everyone in Radon. So upbeat and always thinking about a better tomorrow. When Jory was younger she used to enjoy listening to her brother's tales about a better future, how with hard work and preservation they could one day be rich and live comfortably. Now that she was older, Jory saw that Hermes was nothing but an idiot.

Simon, on the other hand, she could sympathize more with. Simon was more in tuned with Jory's mindset, even though he was a year younger than Hermes. Jory always thought that Simon was bored. Just like her, he couldn't really focus on one thing for too long. He also liked participating in things that were deadly to his health and safety. Apparently, it was the only way he could feel anything anymore. One year, Jory had jokingly said he could get a good rush from the Games. Simon had almost volunteered that year, only saved by Hermes's watching eye.

Walking into her backyard, a dirt plot of land with a broken fence around it, Jory went over to the family's bathtub. She looked at the dirty, possibly irradiated, water with disgust. She'd just skip the bath today. It wasn't like it made much a difference anyways. She couldn't scrub away the smell of poor no matter how hard she tried.

Jory re-entered the house, finding her dress laid out for her in the spare room. It had been her mother's when she was Jory's age, the size and similar taste all to close. They apparently had looked very similar in their youth with the same olive skin, short unruly black hair, and wiry frame.

Thinking of her hair, Jory turned to look at her family's smashed mirror. It's broken patterns were similar to how Jory felt about life. So distorted, so out of context and place, so tiresome to fix. Part of her wanted to be interested in things, wanted to care about the lives of others, but she just couldn't. She felt a defeatist attitude.

Wake up, maybe eat, go to school, skip it, come home, sleep, and repeat. Continue until she was eighteen, where she'd get a boring job working in the nuclear facility, replacing the last chump who dropped dead due to radiation poisoning. No variety, no hope for change. Most would label her a pessimist, some would even go so far as to hate her for her thoughts, perhaps claiming her cold hearted bitch. But Jory knew her mentality was not unique or a product of her puberty, it was the mentality of the entire Radon, possibly even the entire District.

Nothing would change. The cycle of despair and poverty would continue to spin.

And spin…

And spin until they all dropped dead…

* * *

_'What do you want to do today, Fuze?'_

Fuze sat on his dingy bed, the trace amounts of light from the boarded up window filtering in. "It's Reaping day today." he mumbled.

_'I know that...'_ the voice said. _'I'm worried about it.'_

"I'm not." Fuze announced proudly. "My name isn't in there too many times."

_'But if you get Reaped... then I'll have to go with you...'_

"No you wouldn't." Fuze said. "You'll stay behind! Only I'll go in the arena! I'll probably die... but... but at least you'll still be alive, Lighter."

_'You still don't get it? I am you! Lighter is Fuze! Fuze is Lighter!'_

"You're not making any sense." Fuze said, reaching over to his small desk next to his bed. His hands wrapped around a small bottle with grey pills rattling around inside. "I think it's time for you to rest, Lighter."

_'DON'T YOU DARE PUT THAT PILL IN YOUR MOUTH, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!'_

Fuze paused for a moment, gasping in shock. This sort of anger had started to become more commonplace, ever since his parents had gotten him those pills. Apparently, Lighter wasn't allowed to be his imaginary friend anymore. Fifteen year olds weren't supposed to have them, according to his dad. His parents promised him that Lighter would be ok by himself and that Fuze would be too. But Lighter didn't seem to want to leave, even if Fuze took the pills. He always came back, screaming at him and calling him mean names.

Still, Fuze down the pill quickly and before long, Lighter was gone from his mind. Fuze breathed a sigh of relief, suddenly realizing how tightly he had been gripping himself. As he released his grasp, Fuze noticed drop of blood around his arm. He gazed at it, surprised though comforted. Something about blood made him feel better, like all the bad things in his life were being dispersed from his body whenever he bled.

Or other people bled… that was always more fun to watch…

Now more relaxed, Fuze got up from his bed and walked into the kitchen of his home. His family lived in the Solar Node, their moderate wealth on good display for all to see. They lived in a rented out apartment complex, but there was enough of their own items in there to claim the area as their own.

His parents were currently out working, finishing up the last hours of a grueling night shift. Usually one of them stayed behind to make sure that Fuze was safe from Lighter, but recently money had become tight and both were forced to pick up shifts on their jobs. Not that Fuze minded, he always thought his parents too overbearing to handle sometimes.

He did hope they got back before he had to go to the Reaping. His name was hardly in the bowl, but it still terrified him. Fuze knew that if he were Reaped, he would be going to his death. Lighter tried to tell him he would survive because he could kill people easily. Fuze didn't believe him really. Sure, he had killed some rats before, but never a human. Rats were scum, unlike people. Though he knew a lot of people in the Solar Node who said that people from the Nuclear Node were scum too.

Not that he knew a lot of people. Fuze was never big on making friends. Lighter was all he needed really, even if he was _super_ mean sometimes. Lighter and him, against the world! It was a fun thought to consider!

Fuze remembered on dream he had, where he and Lighter, who looked exactly like him except with black hair instead of red, were running through the District, rejoicing in the fact they were the only two people in it.

_'Where is everybody else?'_ Fuze had asked.

_'They're all dead!'_ Lighter answered happily, his perfectly white teeth forming a large smile. _'We killed them! Now it's just you and me!'_

They had danced for ages, jumping over corpse of those they had once known. Fuze's parents, the mayor, workers, other tenants in the complex, even a few bullies who had hurt Fuze when he was younger. He liked seeing them dead.

Fuze suddenly began having happy thoughts about the Reaping. Maybe one of his childhood bullies would be Reaped! Then he could have his guts splattered across the arena by a scary Career! That would show him! And Lighter would be so happy!

Fuze suddenly missed Lighter… it became so lonely without his comforting voice. Fuze went back to his room and grabbed the bottle of pills, looking at them like they were poison. He rushed to the bathroom and tossed them down the waterless toilet, laughing as they slide down the grimy pipes.

Lighter would be back soon… just in time for the Reaping!

* * *

The mood in the District's main city was as it always was, depressed and lethargic. Jory felt like she should hate it for that reason, but it was honestly the same as in Radon. Though in Radon, it was a lot dirtier, more depressing, and instead of proper toilets, they had dug out latrines.

Her family said their goodbyes to Jory, wishing her luck. Jory felt confident she wouldn't be Reaped, though was painfully aware the amount of times her name was in the Reaping bowl. She was the only child still eligible for the Reaping, thus the only one who could take out tesserae. Hermes and Simon had done their tours, now it was her turn to support the family.

Jory stepped into check in line, sighing when she noticed how long it was. She was still several blocks from the Justice Building, forcing her to wait a half hour before checking in. Jory finally did so, taking her place in the fifteen year old section without fuss. She inadvertently ended up next to some girls from the Solar Node, who looked at her torn and color washed dress with disgust. One of them whispered a comment to the others, causing them all to giggle at Jory. In response, Jory spit on the girl, who screeched and ran away.

"You should be ashamed of yourself!" another girl said.

Jory rolled her eyes. "You should fuck off." She replied casually, looking at her dirt cased nails in boredom.

Another huff of indignation and the rest of the girls left Jory alone. Within twenty minutes, the entire yard was filled with scared children as the Reaping began. The mayor stepped forward and read off the Treaty of Treason, looking for tired and older than she actually was. After the propaganda video, which still showed the silly image of the triumphant Victor, the escort stepped up to the microphone.

"Greetings District 5!" the escort shouted, her gear glasses wobbling on her nose. "Happy 77th Hunger Games!"

Jory drowned her out after that, imagining what would happen if she ran up to the stage and punched the escort in the face. It would be comical in a way and make her feel better, but Jory was certain she'd also get executed for it. For someone as pathetic as this Capitolite, it certainly wasn't worth it.

The escort finished whatever she was talking about and walked over to the Reaping bowl, the male one first. "We want to be unique, don't we District 5?" she asked.

No one responded, though all the boys began tensing up. Jory closed her eyes, silently hoping that Alexis wouldn't be Reaped. Or Colby she supposed.

A slip of paper was pulled from the bowl, followed by the announcement at the microphone.

"Fuze DeLumiere!"

Jory blew out a sigh of relief. She wouldn't be losing a friend this year. An odd sound reached her ears and she turned to see that a boy had emerged from the fifteen year old section laughing. Jory scrutinized him, finding him an odd looking fellow. He was dressed rather nicely, with a white long sleeve shirt and black pants with nice dress shoes that all seemed tailored to him. The upkeep of his clothing, along with his posture and clean appearance, told Jory that he must have been from Solar. He was probably from an upper class family, though most of those didn't name their child something as basic as 'Fuze'. Maybe this boy's family had become poor before he was born and they were desperately trying to cling to their old lifestyle through careful grooming.

Or he could have been gay. Jory was always told that gay people had a tendency to try to look nice.

With further thought, she doubted it. He didn't seem the type anyways. In fact, he looked rather deranged and off balance. While his reddish-brown hair was well combed, the rest of his face seemed a disorganized mess. His eyes darted every direction, his chin was shaky, and heavy bags rested under his eyes. He seemed to be muttering something, but Jory and the cameras on him were too far away to pick it up.

As he ascending the stage, the microphone picked up his jumble of words. The escort looked at him curiously, though still managed a pleasant smile. "How are you, sweetie?" she asked.

"Not special." Fuze said, his laughing lowering in tone. He looked away from the escort, looking like he was listening to someone else talk.

"Really?" the escort asked confused. "You've just been Reaped for the Games. I think that makes you special!"

"I guess you're right." Fuze said, addressing some invisible entity. He turned back to the escort, smiling with her. "I am special, actually! So special that I can win!"

"That's wonderful! Don't you just love this boy's confidence?" the escort said, addressing the audience and cameras. "Now, how about the girls?"

The escort quickly went to the girl's bowl, knowing full well that something was off about Fuze. The quicker she got him off stage, the better. Drawing a name, the escort moved back to the microphone and read off the slip's name.

"Jory Edmonds!"

For the first time in a long time, Jory felt true fear.

She felt overwhelmed by emotion.

She felt suffocated by death's coming embrace.

Slowly, Jory stepped out of her section and made her way towards the stage. Peacekeepers breathed down her back, their expressions hidden under their visors but batons on full display. She climbed up the stairs even slower, one of the Peacekeepers forced to push her up the last few steps. The escort held out a hand, but quickly withdrew it when she saw the dirty state of Jory's hands. Jory was a sharp contrast to Fuze in appearance. Poor, dirty, and in total shock.

"Now then," the escort continued once Jory had taken her spot. "Any volunteers?"

As expected, no one volunteered. Suddenly, Jory felt a pang of hatred for her District. Nobody could be bothered to help her, couldn't even be bothered to show at least any care that she was being sent to her death. Sophia hadn't even tried to volunteer! Jory would have shot her down, obviously, but the gesture would have been counted.

Or would she have been dismissive?

She wasn't quite sure.

The escort commanded the two tributes to shake hands, which they did so quickly. Jory winced when she felt the sweaty feel of Fuze's hand against her's, though she couldn't blame him. She was sure her hand felt the same. As they shook, Fuze leaned in closer to Jory.

"Lighter says you're going to die."

Jory looked at the boy angrily, her grip tightening around his hand in the process. Fuze gasped at the sudden pain, while the escort brought them apart. "You're tributes for the 77th Games, District 5! Jory Edmonds and Fuze DeLumiere!"

"Why did you say her name first?" Fuze suddenly asked. "You Reaped me first!"

The escort huffed in annoyance and pushed both of the tributes into the Justice Building. The heavy doors closed behind them, sealing their fates as this years tributes.

* * *

**District** **6**

In the last hours of night, the unsubtle sound of hovercrafts could be heard above the wrecked District 6. Bright searchlights shined from underneath the craft, illuminated every inch it was laid upon. Beggars and drunks were shocked awake by the light, some gasping with joy as they thought for a blurry moment that heaven had accepted them. Their spirits were then crushed once the judgmental light moved on, looking for its next victim.

While the hovercrafts flew overhead, contingents of Peacekeepers marched through District 6's ruined streets. The previous months, since the death of the Kale family, had led to major upheaval in the District. The District had been on a downward spiral for quite sometime, with demand for modes of transportation decreasing. Since that was the Districts main and _only_ industry, the society of the District began to collapse. Jobs were lost, money was lost, the people became lost.

Their rage had first been directed towards the Kale family, their hatred towards them and their spoiled son the easiest target of hate for them. Watching their son get his neck snapped in the Games only soothed their anger slightly, as allegation of his 'rapist' activities began to spread. But once the Kale family was killed, reportedly by the matriarch's hand, the District quickly turned on the Capitol. Riots became commonplace, along with all the chaos they brought. They were allowed to continue for almost a week, only highlighting the growing unimportance of the District in the Capitol's eye. The rebellious citizens were beaten down eventually, the District once more stuck under the heavy thumb of Head Peacekeeper Edrick.

But those things hardly mattered to Trent Bell as he had come up with a brilliant idea.

Risking discovery past curfew, Trent made his way through the dark streets of his District. Occasionally he ducked into the sewers, helped along by several jaded and confused homeless people who had been driven underground. They would point to his destination when asked, staring at the boy's large backpack with curiosity. Some thought to rob him, but the shape of the pack suggested that it contained mechanical items. It had been a long time since anyone had paid for parts, they were cheaper to come by than food these days.

Finally, Trent reached his destination. Running up to the boarded up house, Trent moved around the side and began knocking on the window there. There was no response so Trent tried again, this time faster. A few seconds later, a pair of worried eyes peered from beyond the curtains, only calming they saw the fourteen year old boy smiling at them.

The curtains flew open, though the two figures were still separated by a window and metal protective bars. The girl inside the house, fourteen years of age with black hair and furious eyes, looked at the boy with worry.

"Trent?" she mouthed.

Trent nodded his head, his black bangs coming down over his slanted eyes. He pushed the hair back, hiding it under his trademark red beanie. Trent pointed to the bag on his back, his smile spreading across his face.

"I got something!" he mouthed back.

Dasheen Norton, or Dash, the girl inside, looked at her friend angrily. "The curfew!" she mouthed, allowed some noise to escape in rage.

Trent shrugged. "This is worth it!"

Dash bit her lip, clearly angry that Trent had put her in a tough spot. Her parents barred the front door every night, afraid that robbers would enter in the night to claim what little they had. Even with the heavy Peacekeeper presence, people were still drawn to crime. More so than ever, as food and money were both absent for most.

Reluctantly, Dash waved Trent to her front door. As Trent moved to it, Dash snuck out of her room, past her parents, and quickly opened the door for Trent. As soon as he was inside, Dash locked and boarded it again before bringing Trent to her room.

Once that door was shut, Dash turned expectantly to Trent. "What is it?" she demanded.

Trent smiled happily, opening up his pack to show case his masterpiece. It was a small metal box with a slot like opening in the top of it.

Dash almost screamed when she recognized what it was.

The look of surprise on her face was misinterpreted by Trent though, who looked excitedly at his friend. "Isn't it cool? I was working on it all night!"

Dash breathed heavily, trying to find proper words. "It's a toaster." she stated, an edge to her voice.

Trent nodded his head.

"You risked getting shot by Peacekeepers," Dash began, "risked getting _me_ shot by Peacekeepers, to show me a toaster?"

Trent narrow eyes widened, realization hitting him. "This is bad, isn't it?" he asked.

"TINKER BELL!" Dash whispered harshly.

Face reddening, Trent glared back angrily at Dash for using his nickname. It had been some bully's ploy to make fun of his love for messing with gadgets, his last name, and how his face got red when angry in fell swoop. Trent absolutely hated the nickname.

"I thought you'd like this!" Trent protested.

"It's a toaster. You can buy those at any store." Dash countered.

"But this is different! I made it from a different material and it doesn't have to be plugged into an outlet!"

That got Dash's attention. "Really?" she asked.

Trent held up the toaster, showing her the bottom of it and the protective case there. "See this?" he asked, pointing to a small little hatch. "I just put a battery in here and tadaa! You can toast stuff!"

Dash was impressed, though her anger still present. "Does it even work?" she asked.

"Of course it does! I wouldn't have come here if it didn't!" Trent said, pulling out a piece of toast from his pack. "See? Toasted!"

Even in the darkness, Dash could tell that the toast was darker than it should have been. "This is burnt." Dash said, laying a hand on its over crisped exterior.

"Well... yeah... so the toaster kind of works, at least."

Dash looked at the toaster, then back at Trent. Before long, both of them were giggling, both realizing how flawed Trent's toaster was. As their giggling subsided, Dash's face turned serious. "But really, Trent, you shouldn't be sneaking out this late. Or sneaking out at all!"

"I know, I know..." Trent said, eyes widening as he realized something. "My parents! Crap! They're going to be angry!"

"No kidding." Dash mumbled, "But I'm not letting you leave so you'll have to wait until morning."

Trent fidgeted uncomfortably, already imagining the rage his parents would fly into. He was tempted to just ignore Dash and leave, but then thought better. Dash was pretty strong and could probably drag him back inside. She had to, always serving as the one to drag Trent back from his crazy schemes.

Without another word, Dash got on her bed, covering herself in a scratchy blanket. She had a small pillow too, but not another to offer Trent. He didn't mind, he was used to sleeping uncomfortably. He wasn't even that great of a sleeper anyways, his mind always abuzz with new ideas and schemes. It was so tough to stay focused on one thing, which always seemed to cause his parents issues.

They wanted him to follow in his dad's footsteps and become a hovercraft engineer. It was a good job, one of the higher paying ones in the District that would afford people a good living. The problem with that dream though was it required Trent to do a _lot_ of studying, something he absolutely hated doing. He understood the value of education, but at the same time found the entire process to be long and rather annoying. Trent preferred to learn from doing rather than some boring teacher lecturing at him.

It wasn't the same with his older brother Aston, who at twenty four was a genius with mechanics. Trent loved him, but couldn't help but feel resentment towards his brother. He was such a 'in the box' thinker, always wanting to stay with traditional schools of thought instead of being innovative himself. And he was _rewarded_ for being a follower!

"Are there a lot of people outside tonight?" Dash asked suddenly.

Trent nodded his head. "A lot of homeless people." He said, his voice trailing off. Dash suddenly regretted asking the question. They both knew what happened to homeless people these nights. Head Peacekeeper Edrick had somehow managed to find every psychopathic Peacekeeper in Panem and had them brought to District 6, promising them all the blood and suffering they wanted. As part of that promise, Edrick allowed for his men, after they completed their duties, to go out at night and harass the homeless. Every morning, people would find a body, beaten to death, with faces twisted in horror.

Such was the state of District 6, a Peacekeeper run District now. The factories were still at work, but just barely. They were now mostly producing spare parts, which were shipped off for repair jobs. Meanwhile, their local government stood without mayor. President Snow didn't seem to care to much about appointing a new one, rather enjoying Edrick's ability to inspire fear and rule at the same time.

Trent tried to close his eyes and sleep, preparing for tomorrow's Reaping and the wrath he would find at home.

* * *

The banging began shortly after the tortured man stumbled into their store.

"By authority of Head Peacekeeper Edrick, I hereby order you to open this door!" an angry voice screamed from the other side of the door.

_'They're asking? That's a surprise.'_ Flux Arello thought to herself. Before she could open the door though, a heavy boot collided with the handle and sent the rickety door off its handles. Flux pretended to look surprised and terrified, the latter easier than the first, as Peacekeepers stormed into the store. The first and only one not wearing a helmet, obviously the leader, approached Flux with intensity. He was a large man with short, buzzed hair and dark skin, his eyes a similar color. Flux knew nothing about the man, but could already tell that he was a monster.

"I am Officer Darius." the Peacekeeper announced, "We have reason to believe that a fugitive is being sheltered here."

"F-fugitive?!" Flux screamed, her head turning towards the stores back. "Daddy! Daddy come here!"

Darius grabbed Flux by the arm and dragged her close, "I did not ask for your father, girl!" he shouted. "I asked you."

"There isn't one here!" Flux pleaded. "Daddy!"

With a firm push, Darius pushed Flux away into a nearby self. The tin cans fell from the shelf and hit the ground, denting the canned produce badly. Flux's father, Pin, appeared from the back and rushed to his daughter's side, only to be stopped when Darius grabbed him and held him against the wall. The other Peacekeepers with Darius grabbed Flux and forced her to her knees, one of them drawing a switch whip.

Darius looked at Pin, rage blazing in his eyes. "You have a fugitive here, don't you?" he asked, his tone threatening.

"Of course we don't! We know the penalty!" Pin shouted, "Please, I'm begging you, let my daughter go! We're just manning the shop! We don't have any fugitives here!"

Darius was unconvinced. "You tell me where you've hidden the fugitive and I'll let your daughter remain unharmed. Well, relatively."

"Daddy?" Flux breathed, fear in her voice. "T-tell them we don't have a fugitive! Tell them-AHHH!"

The switch was brought down across Flux's back, causing her to scream in agony. The stinging sensation quickly spread through her body, sending her into a near state of paralysis. "NO!" Pin screamed, as his daughter began to fall, only to have her body adjusted upright by the Peacekeepers.

"You know I can do worse!" Darius shouted. "Now tell me where the fugitive is!"

Pin kept his mouth shut, followed by another blow from the switch to Flux. She screamed out in pain once more, tears falling from her eyes.

"I swear... there isn't anybody here!" Pin whimpered. "P-please just let my girl go... she hasn't done anything!"

Looking between father and daughter, Darius could see that these two pathetic people didn't have the information he was looking for. This store was only the first stop of a sweep of the neighborhood anyways. The longer he wasted time here, the more likely the fugitive would escape. "Let her go and check in the back." Darius ordered.

The Peacekeepers dropped Flux, who tried to run to her dad's side. Pain flared across her body though and she fell to the ground. Pin then tried to run to his daughter, but Darius's firm grasp held him against the wall. In the back, Peacekeepers ravaged through what little supplies the Arello's had to sell. After a minute, the Peacekeepers reemerged.

"Nothing back there." one remarked.

Darius gave the Arello's harsh looks, a cruel smile coming to his face. "Very well. I guess it's your guy's lucky day. But I want you to know that if I hear you've lied to me, or if I have to come back in here for anything else, I'll beat you and your daughter bloody and tie you both up on Rebel Road."

"Y-yes..." Pin mumbled, relief pouring into his voice. "T-thank you, sir!"

Darius snorted and turned to leave, disgusted by the terrible conditions of the Arello shop. As soon as the Peacekeepers left, their boots fading into the distances, Pin ran to his daughter's side. "Are you alright, Flux?"

"I'm fine, dad." Flux said, her voice lower and more controlled than it had been with the Peacekeepers. The horrified father/daughter act was done, at serious cost to Flux's back.

Pin looked at Flux's back, gasping when he saw the forming bruises. "No, you're not." Pin said, running to the medicine self to grab a soothing cream.

As he did so, another figure rushed in through the now gone front door. It was a young girl, the same age as Flux. Though instead of Flux's brown skin and black hair, this girl had pale skin and blonde hair. She was extremely skinny compared to Flux's larger frame, her body underdeveloped thanks to malnutrition. She wore wire like glasses as well, one lens always broken.

Despite her weak frame, the girl showed very little fear upon entering a building in which Peacekeepers had just stormed into.

"Flux!" the girl breathed, shocked to see her friend's hurt look.

"I'm ok, Onyx." Flux said, "It's not as bad as it looks."

Pin returned, giving Onyx a look. "Grab the supplies behind the counter and bring them up to our new friend." he instructed. Hesitant, Onyx looked at Flux first to get her approval. Once she had it, through a simple head nod, Onyx rushed to the store's counter and grabbed a bag of food and medicine, hidden behind several boxes. Onyx ran to the back of the store and grabbed a hooked staff from behind a few shelves. She held it up to the rotting roof, pulling down on a hidden lever. As the door fell down, Onyx grabbed a nearby stool and stood on it, raising her almost up to the hidden room.

"It's ok," she called up into the darkness. "I'm a friend of the Arello's."

Slowly, a scared and battered face appeared from the darkness. The man looked at Onyx with fear, though calmed once he saw her holding up supplies.

"T-thank you." he mumbled, grabbing the supplies from Onyx's grasp. Onyx gave the man a supportive smile, noticing that his left hand appeared to have been stomped on repeatedly while one eye was entirely red from popped vessels.

Once he had the supplies, Onyx immediately closed the door, sealing the man in the hidden room. She hid the staff and stool and returned to the main room where Flux was now sitting up. "He's safe." Onyx said, returning to her friend's side.

Flux gave a small smile. "Good." she said, wincing at the uncomfortable feeling of soothing gel against her back.

Pin only looked half as happy as his daughter. "We can't keep doing this." he said.

"What?" Flux said, spinning towards her dad. "We have to!"

"It's becoming too dangerous, Flux." Pin insisted. "I can't keep putting you in danger."

"I wasn't in any real danger." Flux protested.

"Flux!" Pin shouted, parental rage taking over. Flux's shock subsided from it, while Onyx looked away awkwardly. Sighing, Pin began to regain control of his emotions. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout."

"We can't stop helping people, dad." Flux continued.

"We can and we will." Pin replied. "Someone else will be able to help them, someone who is willing to risk their family."

"So we just let the Capitol win?" Flux responded angrily.

Pin said nothing in response, only standing next to his daughter as they waited for the gel to absorb into Flux's back. Once it had, Pin dismissed himself to go check on their 'new friend'. As soon as he was gone, Flux huffed in annoyance.

"He can't stop helping people." she said bitterly. "_We_ can't stop helping people."

Onyx laid a supportive hand on Flux. "You might just have to."

"It's stupid though! We knew the risks when we started sheltering people! If we stop, who else is going to do it?"

It was a good question as good Samaritans were rare in District 6. Most of them had been strung up and tortured by the Peacekeepers, the few allowed to live serving as reminders of what awaits those who disobey. They stumbled around the District, screaming at invisible attackers and crying at past abuses they faced in dark rooms, where the only light came from a dull fluorescent bulb and the gleam of silver carving tools.

Flux hated the Capitol, just like everyone else, and was willing to do what she had to for combatting them. Even if it was just her, Flux wanted to beat the Capitol. But she knew she could accomplish nothing by outwardly protesting them by herself. She had to be sneaky, subvert their rule through the shadows first. Once enough damage had been there, Flux could stand in the light - hopefully with others - and fight against the Capitol.

For now though, she had to start small.

And even give into the Capitol upon occasion, such as the annual Reaping.

As if reading her mind, Onyx helped Flux upstairs to her room. "Let's just get the Reaping over with." Onyx muttered.

Flux nodded her head, praying that someone would do something rebellious during it.

* * *

The massive street leading up to the Justice Building, now known as Rebel Road jokingly, had become a hell show.

All manners of torture and discipline were on display, mixed with the offenders who had felt their wrath. Broken and ruined bodies of disobedient citizens stood tied to poles, stripped nude for the entire District to see. Whip marks covered most of their backs, dried blood cased over their backs and behinds. One woman's body looked as though she had suffered worse than the men around her. Trent was young, but not young enough to be ignorant of the barbaric act of rape.

One of the bodies, a man in his thirties, suddenly sputtered awake. He began moaning in agony as he struggled to open his eyes, which were buried underneath large, purple welts. His body was a mess as well, with broken ribs misshapen under his skin, fingers bloodied by missing nails, and his genitals ruined beyond natural repair. A nearby Peacekeeper shouted at him to shut up, causing the man to scream out in horror and wet himself. Upon closer inspection, Trent could see that most of the people had defected and urinated on themselves. Various bugs flew about them, infecting their wounds and feasting off the byproducts of their bodies. Near the end of the line, Trent cringed in horror as he saw several corpses, their eyes open and blank with expression.

Trent looked at them all, thinking that when he returned home he'd look one of the condemned souls. He was surprised to find his parents still asleep, though his sister Belle wide away but uncaring. Belle had always been the rebel of family, and at the age of nineteen still had no drive in life. She was still allowed to live on her parent's roof, but only barely so. She often got into fights with their parents, usually ending with how stupid they had been to name her Belle Bell. Trent liked Belle because she agreed with his ideas about their parent's blatant favoritism towards Aston, but at the same time didn't approve of her lazy demeanor. Not that it was entirely her fault, seeing as there weren't' many jobs around the District anymore.

As soon as he reached the end of the check in line, the rest of Trent's family peeled off and went to the spectator section. Trent stepped up to get his finger pricked, cringing when his hand was grabbed harshly and stabbed. The Peacekeeper waved him through, a flash of delight on his face from causing the young boy pain.

"Trent!"

Trent turned to see Dash rushing over, nursing her own finger. Trent gave a small smile and held up his finger. "Hurts a lot." he mumbled.

Dash rolled her eyes. "Of course it does." she said. "I'm glad to see your parent didn't kill you."

"They were still asleep. Lucky me."

"Let's get through the Reaping first, then we can count ourselves lucky." Dash said. She raised her right hand, the one that had been pricked, and awaited for Trent to do the same. Smiling, he raised his own hand and took hers in his.

"Promise you won't be Reaped?" Dash asked.

"I promise." Trent responded. "Do you promise you won't be Reaped?"

"I promise." Dash responded, both of them giggling at their yearly ritual. They had promised each other that promise at their first Reaping and it had now become a yearly event. It was silly, but therapeutic in a way. Trent's name was in the bowl a few more times thanks to tesserae, but not nearly as much as Dash's.

An announcement was made, saying that the Reaping would begin a few minutes. Dash and Trent took their places in their respective spots, waiting for the Reaping to be over with. Shortly afterwards, Head Peacekeeper Edrick stepped up to the podium and greeted the District. He offered his appreciation for the District's cooperation during the Reaping, his enjoyment of their forced attention not lost on anyone. Every word he spat sounded like an insult to the District, especially his talk about the failure of the Dark Days rebels. No doubt he was trying to draw parallels between their failed struggle and the coming failure of District 6's rebels.

"Those who think themselves somehow wronged by the Capitol are in the wrong." Edrick said, his voice booming with arrogance. "They owe their lives to the Capitol's mercy. Without the Capitol, they would perish from this world."

There was a loud scream of words heard from the spectator section, though from his distance, Trent couldn't make it out. It appeared to be a chant of sort, which more and more people seemed to be picking up on. With a flick of his wrist, Edrick ordered his men into the spectator section to round up the rabble rousers and have them join their fellow failed rebels on Rebel Road.

If there were any women among them, Edrick and his supporting officers would deal with them directly.

Edrick finished up his speech with more rhetoric about obedience and the rising new motto of Panem.

"Panem today. Panem tomorrow. Panem forever!" Edrick cried out, to forced applause of those on stage. The escort though was ecstatic and took to the microphone quickly. She looked like she wanted to give her own personal remarks, but a hard look from Edrick made her go directly to the Reaping bowl.

The girl's bowl were picked first, the thin sheet of paper holding the female tribute's name barely noticeably in between the escort's long talon nails. The escort's entire appearance resembled a bird, even with dove wings on her back. With a shrill shout, the escort announced the female tribute.

"Flux Arello!"

As usual, silence fell over the female section as people tried to find the unlucky girl. Finally, someone emerged from the sixteen year old section. Trent was surprised to see that despite her scared expression, Flux looked rather tough. She was about average height, with broad shoulders and well toned arms. Her brown skin contrasted nicely with her dark hair and eyes, the latter wide and unfocused. Trent thought she was rather attractive. Trent suddenly remembered seeing Flux around school with some blonde haired girl, telling Dash that Flux looked hot. He blushed furiously, embarrassed by such thoughts now that Flux was going to die.

As she stepped on stage, the escort smiled at her happily. "Congratulations!" she said. "How are you feeling?"

For a moment, Flux's expression hardened and it looked like she was going to tell off the escort. But just as quickly as it appeared, the rage disappeared. "I'm... I'm feeling good, I guess." Flux said, trying to sound good for the Capitol. "Getting Reaped... it's..."

Flux couldn't finish her statement, shock and fear overriding her. The escort looked at her awkwardly, clearly disappointed with Flux's open ended statement. "Now for the boys!" the escort declared, grabbing up a boy's name as quickly as she had the female. Beside her, Flux had managed to regain some control of her emotions, though her eyes were still wide with fear as the escort called out the male tribute.

"Trenton Bell!"

Trent felt as though a car had just hit him.

He stopped breathing, his heart rate accelerating even without oxygen. His face became red and from the boys around him, Trent could hear them whispering 'Tinker Bell'. It had felt like he had only been standing in his spot for a few seconds, but apparently it had been a lot longer as Peacekeepers barged through the crowd and dragged him to the stage.

Dully, he thought about how he had broken his promise to Dash.

Trent knew he was supposed to act like he was control. Him and everyone had been told repeatedly in school that if you were Reaped, you had to remain calm and collected. The Capitol wouldn't like or sponsor tributes that acted like babies. But Trent couldn't care about that, he could only think of himself going into the Games and the death he would find there.

"No... NO!" Trent shouted. "There has to be some sort of mistake! There must be a different Trenton Bell!"

There wasn't. The Capitol wasn't keen on allowing repeat names. It made cataloging citizens harder.

As soon as Trent was on stage, the tears began falling. He tried to calm down, but everything seemed too overwhelming. The lights, the cameras, Edrick's cruel stare, the entire District projecting pity at him. Trent wanted to curl up and continue bawling, but Peacekeepers stood him upright before he could enter an infant like state. Trent looked forward, seeing a camera pointed directly at him. Knowing that all of Panem was watching him, Trent began to calm himself down, wiping the tears away from his eyes.

The escort didn't have anything to ask Trent, which, with his shaky voice, was fine by Trent. She instead asked the two tributes to shake hands, which they did reluctantly. Flux had gained control of her emotions, a fire of hatred blazing in her eyes. Trent wasn't sure if that was directed towards him or the universe for Reaping her. Probably both. Upon closer inspection, Trent noticed that Flux's eyes were actually a pleasant green color and not the black specks he thought they were earlier. They had a nice calming effect on Trent, who broke a small smile despite the situation.

Maybe Flux would want to ally with him?

Before he had time to ask, Peacekeepers grabbed the two tributes and led them into the Justice Building. Behind them, the escort was wishing them a Happy Hunger Games while Edrick sneered at them; eager to watch the two of them perish in the arena.

At that moment, both tributes were all too afraid they were going to give him what he wanted.

* * *

**_During Catching Fire, Katniss made an interesting comment while she was in District 3. _Panem Today, Panem Tomorrow, Panem Forever._ I thought it was interesting as we never received any sort of motto for Panem from the books, so I'm going with that as a kind of motto. For the previous parts of the story, I've just been using _Glorio ad Capitolium_._**

**_I don't think anybody will think of it because it was such a small part, but since I love educating you guys in random history facts, here's another! The street up to the Justice Building in District 6 is based off the rebel crucifixion along the Appian Way. After the rebel slave Spartacus was defeated by Roman general Crassus in 71 BC, the remaining slave rebels (6,000 roughly) were crucified along the Appian Way. The Appian Way was a major trade route leading to Rome, where slaves were also transported to Rome to be sold. It was a horrifying bit of symbolism for people first being sold into slavery, providing a demonstration as to what happened to disobedient slaves._**

**__****_DON'T FORGET TO CHECK OUT THE BLOG IF YOU HAVEN'T DONE SO ALREADY!_**

**_Up Next: District 7 and District 8_**

**_Tributes: Ayla/Bruce and Tassel/Twill_**


	5. D7 & D8: The Complacent Souls

**_Wow, I'm really sorry about the late update. I just got back to college a week ago and there are far too many things to take up my time. School, friends,... college stuff..., anyways it's been fun :) Hopefully I'll be back to my normal update pace too. They delay also has to do with the Reaping Chapters, which are already beginning to annoy me. The last half of the Reapings and the Training Score chapter are probably my least favorite chapters to write. I never feel like the plot is actually moving until we hit the Chariot Rides._**

**_Oh! But speaking of plot I've now got the Victor down to three tributes! Just running through their epilogues to see which one I like the most!_**

**_Enjoy! Sorry again! Personally, I don't think this is my best work so I apologize if things feel rushed (because I know they are)_**

* * *

**Chapter 4 The Complacent Souls**

**District 7**

From the window in her room, Ayla Thorne stared across her neighborhood, delighting in the sight of it. While the looming Reaping dampened some spirits, most were still chipper from the previous year and the promise of later gifts.

"Hi Ayla!" A young girl shouted, her smile dotted with missing baby teeth. Ayla laughed and waved back to the young girl, who was out playing with other children. Across the street, Ayla caught the eye of her elderly neighbors, hand in hand while enjoying the cool morning. Next door to them were the happy newly wed couple that was expecting any day. The area gave off an overwhelming aura of calm and unconcern. A sense of peace and complacency in life.

All thanks to last year's psychopath Victor, Willow Bark. Her victory brought the District monthly food parcel's for all, medicine and financing for the District, environmental upkeep for better living conditions, and even an orphanage out of her own pocket. Thing had become so calm since her victory that even the Peacekeepers seemed to have cooler heads, as if they were on break for a year. Ayla wasn't a fan of Willow, but she couldn't help but be happy with how things relaxed.

_'It's a shame we won't have another Victor this year.'_ Ayla thought. Districts didn't usually have back to back Victors. Only Districts 1 and 2 had accomplished that.

"Ayla! Breakfast!"

"Coming mom!" Ayla shouted, leaving her room to make her way to their living room. In the center, setting the table was Ayla's young mother, Lia. The thirty-four year old and her sixteen year old daughter looked extremely similar in appearance. Similar fair skin, short body, slender frame, and chestnut brown hair that contrasted nicely with their green eyes. Her face and hands were far more weathered than her daughter's, an unfortunate token of the long hours worked to keep them afloat.

Lia had been a single mom, her teenage pregnancy alienating her from family and community, forcing her to start a new life all by herself. She had done remarkably well, not resorting to any vice activity to support her and Ayla, an almost unheard of phenomenon in Panem. Long hours at one of the many lumber mills and a side business as a tailor allowed the two girls to live a mostly comfortable life in District 7's growing middle class.

"Small breakfast today." Lia said, sitting down with her daughter. "We have to keep rationing the parcel supplies."

Ayla nodded her head in understanding. "At least the last parcel will keep us going." she said.

"The eggs will go bad in a few days, so we'll have to eat those fast." Lia said. "I'll have to get Fitch down her to repair our fridge, or else we'll lose the milk. That would be a disaster."

Ayla took a bite of her bread; still glad after many months that parcel bread was never stale. "What about the rest of our rations?" she asked.

Lia shrugged. "We're doing better than expected. The current supplies will last us for another four months if we're smart, but the last parcel today will make it easier. Overall, we could be doing a lot worse."

"Maybe you could work less shifts too." Ayla said happily.

"Maybe." Lia replied, uncommitted. "You know how the bosses are."

"You could quit." Ayla said.

"Don't be ridiculous, Ayla."

"I'm serious! They work you crazy and you don't deserve that! Why don't you just keep tailoring instead? You're great at it and it's less stressful!"

"There are five other, better, tailors in the city."

"They're not better," Ayla said with a scowl. "They just charge more to trick people into thinking they're better."

Lia laughed, a smile coming to her face. "I'm always proud of you when you're cynical."

"You're welcome." Ayla said.

Leaning over, Lia kissed her daughter lightly on the cheek. "I have a gift for you." she said with a proud smile.

"A gift? For what?"

"It's a 'just because' gift." Lia said, getting up to pick up something from the counter.

"That sounds like something a Capitolite would do."

Chuckling, Lia returned to the table, handing a wrapped piece of paper to Ayla. She took it, unwrapping it carefully, surprised to find what was inside.

"You shouldn't have." Ayla said immediately, stunned at the gorgeous silver necklace. It was done to look like silver branches and vines had wrapped to form it, with various chestnuts and acorns littering it. Ayla was surprised to see those, knowing their symbolism. While most people thought axes and trees would be typical jewelry items for the District of lumber, it was a different situation in the District. Axes and trees were associated with the working, poor class while acorns and seeds were linked with the District's elite. It was a nasty bit of symbolism, showing that the poor worked with their axes while the elite 'planted' the jobs for the poor to work.

"Don't worry," Lia said happily. "I want you to have nice things. Things I didn't have a chance to have."

"But mom! You work hard, if anything you should be spending on yourself!"

Lia laughed. "Don't be silly. I'm happy when you are, sweetie."

Ayla snorted. "How cheesy."

"Oh shut up." Lia responded, playfully slapping her daughter on the arm. "I thought you'd be happy to know that I beat Marge Macintosh's mom from getting it."

Ayla's eye's brightened, a grin coming to her face. "Ok, now I'm happy." she said, smiling with her mom. The image of Marge, Ayla's childhood bully, upset was enough to brighten Ayla's entire day.

A look of concern was spreading across Lia's face though. "Is she still being mean?" Lia asked.

The smile faded from Ayla's face as well, "She's fine. Hasn't bothered me recently." she lied.

Lia looked saddened, knowing that Ayla was lying and that she herself could do nothing to stop Marge. Some of the girl's at Ayla's school had teased her for her single parent home, or more specifically the reason for her single parent home.

"She hasn't called me a bastard in a long time." Ayla said. "I promise."

"Well you're not a bastard." Lia said, angered every time the word was mentioned.

Ayla looked sadly at her mother, knowing she was telling them a lie. Ayla was a bastard, she and everyone else who knew them knew it. Lia had been eighteen when she met Ayla's father, a young Peacekeeper on his first tour of duty. Lia had told her daughter the full story when Ayla was ten, waiting for Ayla to be old enough to understand everything that happened.

The story was almost a twisted tale in psychology. Lia had been the middle child in a large family, stuck with the stereotypical middle child syndrome of feeling unloved compared to ones younger siblings yet not considered independent like ones older siblings. As such, Lia had always been yearning for freedom and love, which she managed to find with Ayla's father.

Lia never mentioned the Peacekeeper's name, an issue Ayla did not pursue, but did tell Ayla of their time together. How she had been taken by him. How he wasn't like the other District 2 boys that Aylin had seen in the Hunger Games. He reveled in life, not the death of innocent teens. She was enchanted by him, and he by her. He was a breath of fresh air in such a dark world, a breath that Lia had fallen head over heels for, just as he had for her. Their love was young love; passionate, crazy, an inconsiderate of long term implications.

Now, Lia could understand that what she had considered love for the man was not love. She had fallen for the ploy that most teens fell for. That physical attraction was what constituted love. Lia looked at herself then, now realizing how she only prized him for his looks. Sure, she cared for his personality, but she always thought of his beautiful body and gorgeous eyes first, sometimes not even considering the colors of his personality.

But when she was young, Lia did not see that. She saw the first person who she thought understood her. She saw a _man_ who understood her. She saw all her childhood fairytales coming true before her eyes. She was in love and stupid.

And then everything went south when Lia found out she was pregnant.

Lia was caught of guard entirely as they had always used protection and pills, supplied by the Peacekeeper. But it had happened, and Lia had no idea what to do. Her parents found out eventually as Lia was unable to hide the pregnancy bump when it appeared. They had been furious, raving that she had disgraced them. That she had been an idiot and was no daughter of theirs. They kicked her out a week after finding out, forcing Lia to face the world by herself. She had tried to find the love of her life, but he was nowhere to be seen. Only years later, well after Ayla was born, did Lia find out that her love had been shipped off to another District.

Ayla could tell that thinking about the circumstances of her birth upset her mother. She leaned over to her mom and gave her a tight hug, causing Lia to blush embarrassed.

"You don't need to comfort me, Ayla." she said.

"I want too." Ayla replied.

Lia laughed uneasily, trying to brush the forming tears from her eyes. "I love you, Ayla." she said. "Always know that I have never not love you."

"I know. I love you too, mom." Ayla replied.

Mother and daughter hugged each other tightly, their strength in each other unwavering. Even in their hardship, the two of them managed to find joy and strength.

* * *

"Well what do we have here, boys?"

"Looks like a bunch of little shits, Bruce."

"Rich little shits too."

The four thirteen year old boys looked fearfully at the pack of eighteen year olds towering over them. They were three in total, one tall and lanky, another short and stout, and the leader tall and well toned. They seemed to be something out of a crap fantasy tale; stereotypical bad guys whose only purpose in life was to cause mischief and misery for the weak.

A task they excelled at all to well in reality.

Bruce Spruce gazed condescending down at the thirteen year olds, his trademark smirk splashed on his face. He had the appearance of a typical meathead, with a large upper body, square face, protruding chin, and tight shirt that showed off his toned biceps and chest muscles. His ginger hair was styled nicely, forming an impressive pompadour. To his right and left were his lackeys, Conin and Sal. Both were hardly 'friends' of Bruce, more fearful of him than respectful. They clung to him, like people to a dictator, willing to give up their morals just to avoid getting a beat down from Bruce.

"Yeah, you were right, Conin." Bruce said. "These shits do have money. Probably for the Reaping festival, right?"

"That's right, boss!" Conin replied happily, his blind devotion turning him into a loyal fan boy of Bruce's. "They were going to spend it on all the stalls!"

"No shit!" Bruce shouted at his dimwitted lackey. Conin recoiled from Bruce's tone, but quickly recovered his chipper face. Bruce turned back to the younger boys, a cocky smile splatter on his face. "Now then... money upfront or we give you a beat down and then take the money."

The response was quick. All four boys handed over their money and ran away terrified, stories off Bruce's past brutality scaring them away. Bruce laughed to himself as he counted the money.

"Well boys," he began. "Looks like we'll have enough for a good time tonight!"

Conin licked his lips happily, while Sal looked a little more thoughtful. "Will they even let us buy alcohol?" he asked.

"Of course they will!" Bruce said, angry that his word was being contested. "We have the money!"

"But the law's really tough about alcohol... and... you know... I don't want to get arrested!"

"Then we won't, shit brains!" Bruce shouted, face reddening. "Besides, we have enough money to buy off the Peacekeepers anyways!"

His lie calmed his cronies down, though Bruce wasn't reassured himself. What if they were caught? The Peacekeepers would be expecting illicit activities during the Reaping Festivals and would probably be out in full force. Though maybe not the poorer section of the District where Bruce and his friends lived. The Peacekeepers only came down to the slums when they were drunk and wanted to harasses citizens or screw a whore, usually without paying.

_'We'll be fine tonight!'_ Bruce reasoned. _'And if it looks bad, I can always make some other shit buy the booze for us.'_

"Yeah! We're good!" Conin blabbered out loud. "The boss is right, Sal! So, boss, you going to try and hook up with Zelma tonight?"

Bruce tried to look proud, but he was all to afraid that his nerves were showing. "I'm not going to try, I am going to hook up with her!"

Sal rolled his eyes at Bruce's statement, while Conin looked inspired by their leader. "That's how we do it, right? Oh man, I bet I could hook up with Patricia!" he said happily.

"Sorry, buddy!" Bruce said with a smile, happy to break the bad news. "But I heard Patricia's got a secret lover!"

"What? When?" Conin whined.

Conin continued to whine about his lose of Patricia while the boys walked back to their respective homes. Once they returned home, Bruce sighed as he looked over his shit house. It was practically a tent house, held up by rotting ropes, various discarded metals, and thick tarp. The community didn't have private toilets and was forced to share a community center for all toilet and bathing needs. The place was typically far too dirty for anyone to spend long periods of time there, due to the overflow of sewage, but last year's Hunger Games Victory had motivated the government to fix it. The facilities still sucked, but at least Bruce didn't have to jump over rivers of shit to return to his home.

Before he entered his home, Bruce looked over to his neighbor's yard, noticing the boy out front. He was a year younger than Bruce with dirty blonde hair, crumpled clothing, and broken glasses. In his hands was a worn out book, ruined by environment rather than use. His eyes looked at its pages in deep concentration, his mind trying to process all the information he could glean from it. He was completely oblivious to the bully neighbor looking at him.

Bruce said and did nothing, merely looking at the nerd. It wasn't hatred that blazed in Bruce's eyes, but jealously. He knew that being smart had little to do with success in District 7, but the opportunity to gain knowledge still made Bruce jealous. Bruce was not a smart guy for his age, spending most of his early life relaying on his muscle to get him through things. Hit first and never talk, that was Bruce's philosophy. But as he had gotten older, and the days spent working at the lumber mill got longer, Bruce began to regret his ignorance of things.

The neighbor boy looked up, noticing Bruce for the first time. For a moment, Bruce thought about asking him what he was reading, but it passed when the boy's face turned to fear. Just like every other kid's did when they saw Bruce.

"What are you looking at, nerd!" Bruce shouted, leaning down to grab a small rock. He tossed it the boy, laughing as it smashed into the boy's face and broke his glasses. The boy cried out and ran back into his house, taking the book with him. As the rotting door slammed, Bruce sighed angrily.

Perhaps it was best to be ignorant. After all, as his yard manager said, ignorance was bliss.

* * *

Ayla and her mom made their way to the Reaping at a casual pace, enjoying the beautiful day around them. Since they resided in District 7's main city, getting to the Reaping was a relatively easy process. On the outskirts of the city, various buses were transporting citizens from the farthest reaches of the District to its heart. In her younger life, Ayla always feared seeing her relatives at the Reaping, worried that it would upset her mom. But the crowds were always massive and so far they had not seen Lia's parents and siblings elsewhere. Ayla had no idea what they looked like, and if Lia had seen them over her sixteen year exile, she had said nothing to Ayla about it.

"I'll see you after the Reaping." Lia said, giving her daughter a hug. "We can get some food afterwards. I heard that Ms. Kenzie is making her ice pops."

Ayla rolled her eyes. "I still don't get how she does it during the summer."

Lia laughed and kissed her daughter's forehead before wandering over to the viewer's section. Ayla waited patiently in line, wishing it would go faster so the ceremony would be over. District 7's population had experience a boom ten years ago, leading to a major increase in its child population. As such, the District had to add two extra fields to the Reaping proceedings, organizing children by age. The sixteen to eighteen year olds, who had the highest chance of being Reaped, were placed in front of the Justice Building.

"Bastard."

Ayla's face tightened in anger, turning to see the pudgy faces of Marge Macintosh and her stupid friends. They were all from upper class families, constantly bragging at school how they were better than everyone else due to their finer clothing and fewer slips in the Reaping bowl. They were currently staring at Ayla's silver necklace, Marge looking like she was about to explode.

"That necklace is mine, bastard!" she hissed.

"The bastard probably stole it, Marge." one of Marge's friends commented.

Ayla turned away, bitter from the brief encounter. She was also upset that Mage and her friends knew about her penchant for theft, a skill she picked up stealing from people like Marge. Luckily, her mom didn't know about it. Ayla could only imagine how disappointed she would be with her. Ayla could handle an angry mom, but a disappointed one was the worst.

Shortly afterwards, Ayla was checked in and directed towards the sixteen year old section. After almost half an hour, the Reaping finally began, much to the crowd's mixed pleasure. The doors to the Justice Building opened, first letting various District officials onto the stage. Along with them came District 7's four remaining Victors. Three of them were elderly men who had all won their Games before the Second Quarter Quell, though the fourth was District 7's most recent Victor.

Willow Bark, Victor of the 76th Hunger Games.

She smiled at the crowd, her white teeth shining in the light as her curled blonde hair blew lightly in the wind. She looked so happy at that moment that one could almost forget how she had killed six children to gain the title of Victor. Some liked to say she actually killed _seven_ because she led the District 1 boy, Auron, to his death by the Valkyrie, but the official records said six because she technically hadn't killed him herself.

Never the less, that did not make her any less dangerous or insane. All of her kills had been brutal, the most prominent two being her disembowelment of the District 4 girl and the killing of District 9's tribute, Anastasia, who had only been thirteen. Anastasia had survived through so much horror, only to have her throat torn open by Willow in the final two fight. Willow had given the District a victory, but still... it was horrible to watch and to think of now. Thinking of her District and District 9 also made Ayla remember the horror their tributes would face this year.

The Career's vengeance, as many had taken to calling it.

It was guided by the Career's silly pride, a sort of retribution for doing better than any member of their pack had. Since both District 7 and 9 had outlived the Pack's last member, Nicolae of District 2, they had to pay for their 'offense'. The Career pack would descend upon the two District's tributes during the Bloodbath and kill them first, all in order to prevent their District from out preforming them again. It was a tradition that begun during one of the Games in the lower fifties, a tradition that the Capitol absolutely loved.

Ayla shook her head sadly, knowing that whoever was Reaped wouldn't live past the Bloodbath.

She quickly prayed that Marge was Reaped.

The mayor interrupted her though as he began his speech, more chipper than usual. Obviously the past year had been good to him, just like it had been for all his citizens. Everyone had been complacent, the Capitol had been pleased, and he had received a nice bonus for his minimal effort work. He made sure to praise Willow Bark in his speech, enthusiastically welcoming her to the rank of Victors once more. She accepted the audience's mostly honest applause with a devilish smile and courteous wave. Ayla shivered when Willow's face appeared on the big screen, her striking, genetically modified blue eyes shining brightly for the camera, like a blue eyed devil.

Once the mayor finished his speech, he introduced District 7's escort, who smiled proudly when she took to the microphone.

"I am so proud of this District!" the escort declared, tears forming in her eyes. "You were blessed with such a wonderful girl last year that..."

The escorts voice trailed off as tears of happiness came to her face. Ayla, and many others, rolled their eyes at the escort's over exaggerated behavior. The atmosphere though was broken by the angry tone of District 7's latest Victor.

"Damn it, just get on with it already!" Willow shouted, her arms crossed angrily as the Victor crown wobbled on her head. "Nobody cares about your feelings, lady!"

The escort bristled, her memory returning on how _rude_ Willow could be. "Act civil, Victor Bark!" the escort instructed.

"I am being civil!" Willow responded honestly. "Now hurry up and Reap so I can see who I'm mentoring!"

Snorting, rather unlady like, the escort turned to the audience once more. "Let's get to it then!" she said. "Ladies first!"

Ayla shook off her amusement, fear striking her as the escort pulled a name out of the girl's bowl. Ayla could feel her heart racing as the slip was pulled and the escort walked back to the microphone.

_'There are way to many names in that bowl, Ayla! You won't be Reaped! You didn't even apply for tesserae this year! You're ok!'_

"Ayla Thorne!" the escort's voice rang.

Ayla gasped loudly, her heart stopping momentarily as the world collapsed around her.

Before she had time to process anything, she felt hands begin pushing against her back, forcing her out of the line. "Here she is!" a voice screamed out.

_'Marge!'_ Ayla thought angrily. She tried to turn and face her bully, but Marge was too powerful and had already pushed her out of the line.

"Have fun, bastard!" Marge spat harshly, holding up a silver chain in her hand.

Once more, Ayla gasped. She reached for her neck, shocked to find that the necklace was gone and now in Marge's possession. With an angry snarl, Ayla charged Marge to attack, only to be stopped by Peacekeepers. They dragged the two girls apart, leaving Marge alone in favor of getting Ayla on stage. Ayla's mind raced, now realizing that every camera was now on her. She was being broadcasted across Panem, with viewers already beginning to judge her.

An idea popped into her head, one final 'screw you' to Marge.

"She has my token!"

That stopped the Peacekeepers, who looked between Ayla and Marge. "Your token?" one asked.

"The silver necklace! It's my token!" Ayla responded, pointing it out in Marge's hand.

Marge looked stunned, though also infuriated by Ayla. "She's lying! It's mine!"

"My mom bought it for me! As a good luck charm!" Ayla pleaded. "Please let me have it back! She stole it from me! Isn't that illegal?!"

The Peacekeepers looked at Marge with firm stares, recognizing the lawbreaker. Marge also realized what had happened and immediately relinquished the necklace.

"I was just holding onto it for her!" she said, the fear all too clear in her voice. "I-I thought she wouldn't want to lose it!"

"We'll be following up on this matter." One Peacekeeper said.

The look on Marge's face almost removed all negative emotion from Ayla's mind.

Almost.

Once the necklace was returned to her, Ayla was led onto the stage where the escort took her in hand immediately.

"So nice to see you have some spirit!" she said. "Perhaps you could be the next Willow!"

Ayla shuddered. "Thanks." she mumbled.

From the Victor seats, Ayla's could hear Willow scoff. She was obviously offended that someone thought anyone could replace her. Ayla had to agree, not that she wanted to replace Willow. _'But that's the only way I'll be coming home.'_ Ayla thought bleakly. _'By killing others...'_

Lost in her own thoughts, Ayla almost missed the escort calling out the boy's name.

"Bruce Spruce!"

It couldn't be helped. As soon as his name was called, Ayla, and a few others in the crowd, began to chuckle at the ridiculous name. When Bruce appeared though, he was far different than what Ayla imagined. He was tall, well muscled, and carried himself with pride. He also had a rather impressive hairstyle, though Ayla wasn't quite sure what it was called. Her humor towards him dissipated as she realized that this was a boy who had a chance at winning. She looked towards Willow, trying to gauge her reaction. For the most part, she appeared indifferent and Ayla realized she would never be able to guess what Willow was thinking.

_'Oh no... she's going to be our mentor...'_ Ayla thought, panic gripping her.

Bruce took to the stage, towering over Ayla's smaller, barely over five foot, body. Bruce cleared his throat and swept his ginger hair back, a cocky smile coming to his face.

"You picked a good one, ma'am." Bruce said, winking at the escort.

The escort giggled like a schoolgirl, obviously taken by Bruce. Or more his muscles as her eyes seemed to be stuck on his well sculpted chest. Ayla looked at herself, trying not to look sad about her thin frame. If Bruce wanted, Ayla was sure he could break her in half.

"Thank you!" the escort said in a silly tone. "I like your hair!"

Bruce grunted. "It's a pompadour."

Still looking at Bruce with a stupid smile, the escort leaned towards the microphone to finish the Reaping. "District 7, your tributes for the 77th Hunger Games! Ayla Thorne and... Bruce Spruce..."

Still infatuated, the escort didn't even instruct the tributes to shake hands. They did so anyways, Bruce's rough hand enveloping Ayla's smaller one easily. He squeezed roughly too, trying to show off his already evident strength. Ayla thought she should say something, but no words came to mind. What could she say? Hope you don't die? Already a lie.

He had too. It was the only way she'd be coming home.

Their hands broke apart and Peacekeepers lead them into the Justice Building, right past Willow who leaned over to the tributes.

"It's to bad District 7 won't be having a Victor this year."

Ayla gasped in fright, remembering her thoughts from earlier, while Bruce looked at Willow angrily, who threw her head back and began laughing. Her haunting laugh was the last thing the tributes heard before the Justice Building doors slammed behind them, sealing their fate.

* * *

**District** **8**

"My husband and I just love this designs!" the Capitolite prated on. "It's top of the line! The best things we've ever seen, ever!"

Mr. Zephyr smiled happily, adjusting his elegant bow tie while his wife and son, Twill, smiled with him. The happy, District 8 designer family. It was a role they played all to well with the help of their overflow of wealth. The Zephyr's were arguably the richest family in District 8; their status gained from blind support of the Capitol and amazing, trend setting clothing lines. They were so wealthy that they could afford to pay for the connection cost of a teleconference with a couple in the Capitol, as they were currently undertaking now.

Twill Zephyr, the only child of the family, sat obediently in between his father and mother. As usual, he was dressed in the best things money could buy. It wasn't a burden to Twill, he liked dressing nice. It was a sure fire way of gaining the Capitol's respect and telling the poor he was better off then them. Even without the clothing, his well built body, clean red hair, and soft skin gave it away. Twill never had to work in the harsh, particle filled textiles mills a days in his life since his family owned several. Most District 8 children started working there when they were eight or nine, their small fingers good for picking out knots in the textiles. The only work Twill ever did was design his own clothing, which he was getting ready to share with the Capitolites.

"We're glad you're happy." Mr. Zephyr replied, "Only the best for the Capitol!"

"Always!" Mrs. Zephyr seconded, her stainless teeth and flattering lips flashing a beautiful smile. The husband looked at her with joy, eyes blatantly gazing at her exposed cleavage. If the wife noticed, she said nothing. Twill was all to aware that her eyes seemed to be sizing up his sixteen year old body. Twill smiled politely, though he was a bit disgusted by the Capitolites fashion. Why she thought purple and green could go together well was beyond Twill's understanding.

"What's your estimate on timing?" the husband asked.

"Next quarter!" Mr. Zephyr said proudly.

"Really?" The wife said surprised. "Even with the Games about to begin? Doesn't that usually slow you down?"

"Usually, but we're on a timeline and the workers will be happy to work."

The workers wouldn't, but would show up for the meager paycheck.

"That's good. I already know that this line will be a hit in the Capitol!" the husband said. "We have to thank you again for taking time to brief us. I'm sure you're also busy with the Reaping."

"Oh very," Mr. Zephyr lied. "But we're more than capable of multitasking. Besides, you two are more important."

"Are you ready for the Reaping, Twill?" the wife asked, a hint of actually concern in her voice.

Twill smiled happily, "I sure am. I'm not too worried though, there's no chance I'm going into the Games."

"Well that's good." the husband said, a pang of annoyance in his voice. He knew his wife's interest in Twill and hypocritically reprimanded her for checking out other people.

"Besides, even if I was Reaped, I'm sure I'd have generous sponsors in the Capitol!" Twill said.

"You can count on us, dear!" the wife said with a laugh.

"I bet! You two are by far my favorite Capitolites!" Twill said, before leaning in cautiously. "But don't tell anybody else there! I still want to do business with people!"

"You want to do business? Do you have your own line of clothing for show?"

"I'm afraid we're going to have to get going!" Mr. Zephyr said regretfully. "Always a pleasure to talk with you, sir and ma'am."

"Oh, very well. The pleasure is all ours though. We'll be waiting for the line in prolonged ecstasy!"

With that weird analogy, the conference call ended and the Capitolites faces vanished from the screen. Mr. Zephyr turned to his son angrily. "How many times do we have to talk about this 'line' of yours?" he asked.

"As many times as it takes for you to approve it!" Twill countered. "I have some really good ideas that-"

"Those ideas are mediocre at best." Mr. Zephyr replied. "Wait until you're eighteen and then you can try to influence the business!"

With that, Mr. Zephyr left the room, leaving only Twill and his mother. Mrs. Zephyr had never been the best with maternity, leaving most of the raising of Twill to various nannies. Still, she tried to be comforting by laying a supportive hand on her son's shoulder. "I'm sure they look good." she said.

"He's just scared that mine are better than his!" Twill said angrily.

"I doubt that." Mrs. Zephyr said. "But you can keep thinking that. Eventually it might be true."

"Thanks." Twill muttered, getting up from his seat. He left the room and his mother behind, returning to his own. As he closed the door, Twill began pulling out clothing to wear for the Reaping.

He didn't try to think of his parents too much. While some children might be angered with their parents, Twill felt nothing for them. They had given him money and a good life and didn't seem to want much from him in return. It was enough for Twill, who was more than happy to free ride off their wealth. Parties, girls, material goods, it all came easy to Twill thanks to his wealth.

True, he did occasionally want more for his life. He dreamed often of starting his own clothing line and impressing people in the Capitol, maybe enough to get an invitation there. Few people from the Districts travelled to the Capitol, the majority of 'visitors' being tributes, Victors, and Avoxs. But occasionally the higher members of society in the Districts were allowed to travel to the Capitol on business or pleasure. Twill's parents had been and often remarked loudly how they wished they lived there, though that was a common dream.

Sighing, Twill pushed his dreams aside. Even if he never managed to get his own line, he'd still inherit his parent's business. He'd be rich for the rest of his life without having to lift a finger for it. He had been born lucky while others in District 8 had been lucky to even be born.

Twill let his mind turn to happier thoughts. There would be an excellent party at the mayor's house after the Reaping, limited to only the social elite. Those were always fun and Twill was sure he'd be allowed some liquor while there.

Perhaps he'd get lucky today.

* * *

For probably the hundredth time that day, Tassel La'Bowe considering running away from home.

"You have to wear this dress, Tassel!" her mother screeched at her. "I won't have my only child wearing beggar clothing!"

Tassel sighed, rubbing her temples to try and calm herself. It never seemed to work though, yet she continued to do it. "They aren't beggar clothes, mom-"

"MOTHER!"

"_Mother_." Tassel corrected, gritting her teeth angrily. "These clothes are just easier to wear."

"Of course they are, they're beggar clothes!" Tassel's mother shrieked. "If fine clothing items were easier to wear, everyone would be wearing them! That's what they say in the Capitol!"

Tassel sighed, knowing her mother would pull the Capitol card. _'She goes to the Capitol once on a business trip and she thinks she's all that!'_ Tassel thought angrily. She refused to let that anger manifest though, keeping her face calm as she dealt with her mother's superficiality.

"Just promise me you'll wear the dress!" Tassel's mother pleaded.

"Fine." Tassel conceded. "But I'm changing out of it immediately after the Reaping."

"What? You can't do that!" Mrs. La'Bowe said, clearly ashamed. "We have the mayor's party afterwards."

For a moment, Tassel felt like her facade was going to collapse. "I thought we agreed I didn't have to go." Tassel said.

Mrs. La'Bowe shook her head. "Don't be silly, Tassel. All the factory heads will be there! It would be rude for you not to come! And besides, it'll be fun!"

Tassel highly doubted that. Spending the night with a bunch of stuck up snobs who considered themselves better than the rest of the District was hardly fun. They're wealth, as was Tassel's family's, was only due to the Capitol's generosity. The Capitol just needed factory managers to make sure the demand was met, nothing more. The managers didn't even own the factories, but they sure liked to parade around like they did. Tassel was ashamed to be apart of District 8's snobbiest class, though couldn't imagine giving it all up. It was a constant conflict that Tassel despised.

Mrs. La'Bowe made a few more comments about the upcoming festivities before she left. Once she did, Tassel let her true emotions play out. It was far to frustrating dealing with her mother as she was the _only_ one who had too. Tassel had no siblings or extended family, and her own father usually spent too much time at work to deal with his wife. Tassel didn't have any friends either as she hated the handful of elite children in the District while the masses of poor children hated her.

Looking in the mirror now, Tassel's wealth was displayed by her relatively healthy body. Her dark skin was blemish free, teeth white, nails clipped, and limbs developing nicely. Her rich, curly hair was cut short too, an unusual distinction as upper class girls tended to have their hair long. They were able too, as all worker girls had to cut their hair shoulder length to avoid getting it caught in the sewing machines.

Just thinking of all those girls, all those people, living in total poverty made Tassel disgusted with herself. Her parents had never done anything outstanding in their lives to deserve the wealth they had. They had merely inherited it from their relatives, who had inherited it from their relatives. The history was sketchy, but Tassel was confident that the family's who controlled the factories had been loyalist to the Capitol in the Dark Days, their reward being subjugation of all rebels and wealth.

Tassel sighed, lying down on her comfortable bed. The world was such a sick place, and Tassel was nothing more than apart of that sickness. She tried to help the poor citizens in her District, always willing to contribute her money and time to charity efforts. But instead of appreciation, most looked at her with resentment. Some even spit on her, telling her to stop mocking them with her false caring attitude.

_'I just want to help!' _Tassel had pleaded.

_'Nobody asked you!'_ a haggard woman had shouted, fingers disfigured by years of working in the mills. _'Now get before we gut you, brat!'_

They had called her worse things than brat, words that Tassel felt she didn't deserve. She never returned to helping people though, fearful for her life. Eventually, she had come to understand that even if she kept up her charity work, it would never work out. The only way she could help would be take control of her parent's factories and make worker's living conditions better.

Or she could run away and live on the streets, becoming one of the poor before helping them.

_'No, that won't work.'_ Tassel thought. _'I'd be dead the first night, I'm sure.'_

Tassel groaned angrily, tired of feeling so helpless in trying to make a difference. She spent all her time trying to think of ways to help, only to end up with nothing practical to show for. Instead, she spent all her time living the high life, stuck with snobs and only garnering a reputation of being 'one of them'.

_'I just hope _he_ isn't at the party tonight…'_ Tassel thought.

* * *

"Tassel, lovely as always. Even with such terrible taste in outfits."

The fifteen year old girl sighed angrily as she turned to face Twill. He smiled back at her, knowing that he was one of the few people who could get under the girl's skin. They were both from the upper class, meaning they were familiar with one another through social events and being marginalized by their school peers.

"Twill," Tassel replied, as calmly as she could. "Still dressing like an idiot."

"An interesting idiot." Twill countered. "Or refined if you ask the Capitol. I believe your mother loves my looks too. Told me they remind her of a Capitolite's clothing."

"Only you would find that a compliment."

"Why wouldn't I? Capitolites are rich, never hungry, and live a life of luxury. Isn't that what everyone wants?"

"No, I don't think so. Not everyone wants to be a part of an evil culture." Tassel spat.

Twill laughed at perceived stupidity. "Why do you have to be such an idiot some times? That's not an attractive feature for me."

"Like I care." Tassel said, her anger rising.

"Well I heard that your mother thinks I'm a good future husband."

For a second, it looked as if Tassel would hit Twill. But like always, she refrained from doing so. "I hope you get Reaped." she said instead.

"Please," Twill replied, dismissively. "My name, and _your_ name, is in there the minimum number of times. The only chance of me getting Reaped would be-"

The invisible threat of a rigged Reaping hung in the air, neither of them willing to pick up on it. The District's last experience with it was all too recent.

Instead of talking further, Tassel stormed away into the crowd of gathering children. Twill watched her go with a small smile on his face, always finding entertainment in teasing Tassel. Around her, girls were talking each other in a friendly manner, to which Twill felt a twang of jealously watching. Twill had no 'friends' to show for, only acquaintances and admirers of his wealth. In a way, Tassel was Twill's only friend, albeit he was not hers in anyway.

Shaking off those thoughts of loneliness, Twill got in line and checked in with the other boys, quickly taking his designated spot with indignation. He absolutely _despised_ being placed next to a bunch of random boys. They were all poor and unclean, always giving him dirty looks. Twill largely ignored them and tried to move as far away as he could from the haters.

_'Just get through this, Twill, and you can party it up soon enough.'_ He thought happily.

He didn't have to wait much longer as Mayor Crumplefoot began the Reapings shortly after. Even a year after the death of her son in the Games, the Mayor still managed to look strong yet grieved at the same time. It was an odd mix that _nobody_ should have been able to pull off. Not that Choux was by any means a good son, or person, though Twill missed him upon occasion. Choux always managed to get his hands on the good booze and dirty girls.

Once the Treaty was read and the video shown, the escort appeared and wished everyone a happy Hunger Games. "I do hope the odds are in our tribute's favor this year! I know we're all anxious for a victory sometime soon!" she said excitedly.

A hum of anger emerged from the crowd, though it didn't become more. The escort said a few more, frivolous things and then made her way to the girl's bowl and pulled out a name.

"Tassel La'Bowe."

Twill audibly gasped when he heard Tassel's name called, his head spinning to locate her. She emerged from the fifteen year old section slowly, eyes wide with shock and horror. Around her though, Twill could see poverty stricken girls giving smug or even blatantly happy looks at Tassel. It was always like that when an upper class child got Reaped.

Peacekeepers collected her and walked her up to the stage, the escort laughing happily as Tassel joined her.

"Well don't you look healthy!" she exclaimed.

Tassel blushed furiously, overcome by fear over the Games and being judged for her wealth. Thinking that the Capitol wouldn't be too impressed with her, Tassel tried to think of something she could say to show she wasn't as scared as she was. Isn't that how tributes played the Hunger Games? By lying, cheating, and murdering their way to victory, damning morals along the way?

"Thank you, ma'am." Tassel said politely. "I... um... I think it'll be an... advantage."

"Oh really? How so?"

Pausing, Tassel struggled to come up with an answer that didn't make her sound like an elitist. "Um... less chance of catching a cold?"

The escort laughed loudly. "Catching a cold? Oh darling I think you're going to have a lot worse things to worry about than _that._"

"What about infection?" Tassel countered. "It kills tributes just as easily as a sword does."

The escort was impressed by Tassel's statement of basic knowledge, making her brighten with the hope that others in the Capitol would like it too. "How right you are, darling!" The escort said, before turning back to the audience. "Now, how about we do the boy's, hmm?"

Oblivious to her innuendo statement, the escort pulled a slip out of the boy's bowl and read it out in a gurgle.

"Twill Zef... Zepher?" the escort said, confused by the last name. "Z-E-P-H-Y-R! Wow, what a name! Come up here, sweetie, you've been Reaped!"

"No..." Tassel breathed, loudly enough to be picked up by the microphone.

"Ah shit." Twill muttered. "You've got to be kidding me."

Peacekeepers came for Twill, forcing him towards the stage. Twill didn't express any fear though, his mind to wrapped by rage at the moment. His name was only in there _five_ times! FIVE! Why the hell couldn't another poor loser get Reaped?

Before he protested though, Twill was on stage along with the escort and Tassel. Her face was a mix of distress, anger, and annoyance as she thought her chances of survival lowered. Twill himself was not thrilled with being Tassel's partner. She didn't have the cutthroat attitude needed to win the Games. She'd be a Bloodbath for sure and Twill would have to win the Games all by himself.

"Congratulation to District 8's tributes! Tassel La'Bowe and Twill..."

There was a silence until Twill realized that the escort still didn't know how to pronounce his last name. "_Zephyr!"_ he nearly shouted.

"Yes, well, shake hands now! And may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Tassel and Twill shook hands reluctantly, only happy that the other was not in any mood to bother them. As they broke apart and were lead into the Justice Building, both of the thought to themselves how the other would be dead in the Bloodbath.

And how happy they would be because of that.

* * *

**_Disclaimer: I know absolutely nothing about fashion (so if purple and green do go together, whoops). For me, if the clothing fits and feels good, I wear it. I'm such an embarrassment to the gay stereotype._**

**_Up Next: District 9 and District 10_**

**_Tributes: Aylin/Dagan and Clarimonde/Sterling_**


	6. D9 & D10: The Proletariat Souls

**_Thanks for all the reviews guys! It's seriously helping me get through these Reapings. _**

**_Enjoy the chapter!_**

* * *

**Chapter 5 The Proletariat Souls**

**District 9**

Far from the decaying mass that was District 9's main city stood a fifteen year old girl at a bus stop, surrounded by her caring parents and tolerable siblings.

Oh how she wished she were anywhere but there. Aylin Henrickson could only deal with her family for so long before she snapped.

"You could at least try to be nice to people, Aylin." Aylin's mother, Andrea, chastised.

Aylin rolled her eyes, twirling a strand of her red hair in between her fingers. She personally thought doing so was very bratty, but it was also a guaranteed way to piss her parents off.

"Look, I called it like I saw it." Aylin defended. "Dashell's parents have been standing around complaining for half and hour. People can only take so much of it!"

"They were upset because it was little Dashell's first Reaping!" Andrea said, harshly. Aylin rolled her eyes once more, before turning to her mother to give her the full stare down.

"First off, Dashell isn't little. His family gives him more to eat than most people around. Secondly, fine they can be upset, but they don't have to talk everyone's ear off about it! They act like they're the only family that has to go through a Reaping! And it's not like _his_ name is in there a lot anyways. They're just attention whores."

"What's a whore?" Aylin's younger brother asked.

"Don't you worry, sweetie." Andrea told her son, before turning back to Aylin. "It's a frightening time, Aylin. You could at least show some sympathy. Kaleb! Tell your daughter to be kind."

Kaleb, Aylin's father, was currently holding onto Aylin's other younger brother, who was about to go through his second Reaping. Kaleb mumbled a criticism of Aylin's behavior, but everyone could tell he felt the same way as his daughter.

Andrea, frustrated with the lack of support, decided to drop the matter. "I just hope the bus gets here soon!" she said, agitated by having to get up at five in the morning to get crammed onto a small bus. The Hencrickons lived on the outskirts of District 9, meaning it took them a substantial amount of time to get to District 9's only city. Four and a half hours to be precise. Then the children would have to go through the Reaping, they'd all have to stay for the festivals, and then get back on the bus for a four and half hour ride back.

Reaping Day was hell for so many reasons.

This was hardly the Henrickon's first go around with Reapings though. Like most agriculture based families, the Henrickson were a large family. As the sixth child in her parents liter of eight, Aylin had fallen into a sort of extreme middle child scenario. She had always been vying for attention that her parent's were unable to give, which they gave early in her life but stopped when her younger brothers were born. Sure, they cared about her and made sure she was fed, clothed, and slept well. But beyond that, she had no real connection with them, or her siblings for that matter. Despite having seven to choose from, Aylin never felt that close to any of them. Two were married, two were living on their own in the fields, and one in the city, leaving Aylin the eldest child still living with her parents.

As the sixth child, Aylin also felt as though her parent's 'good traits' were a bit lost on her. She was not the smartest of eight children, just getting by in school and having no drive to continue education. She was not the toughest child, doing all right with the heavy lifting in the fields. Nor was she the prettiest of the Henrickson children. She wasn't ugly, but she wasn't anything that special to look at.

In many ways, Aylin didn't feel like she was anything. She was just plain Aylin.

She just _was._

Not that she liked to think that her sixth child status had anything to do with her personality. That was entirely shaped by the world of Panem. She was young, but she wasn't a fool. Aylin's childhood ignorance had been shed very early on when a Peacekeeper gunned down a sixteen year old girl in front of her. Aylin had only been eight at the time, but the image never left her mind. Her parents, preferring to live in a happier world, tried to get Aylin to forget about it, tried to convince her it was a tragic mishap. But Aylin refused to see it like that.

Each harsh experience made Aylin stronger than the day before. Anyone who tried to hide from the world was an idiot in her opinion.

For that reason, Aylin had mixed reactions about the rebels who had popped up across District 9. It had only been a month since they were beaten down, but their influence still moved across the District. Aylin respected the rebels for taking a stand, especially their leader, Myza Kellar, who had lost both her children the previous year. Her son, Raven, in the Hunger Games and her daughter, Azriel, to the hail of Peacekeeper bullets during the 76th Victory Tour.

Still, Aylin could only disapprove of the rebel's reason for rebellion. Religion? It was silly to think about. Why wouldn't they rebel for their human rights? Why for an absentee and, in Aylin's opinion, a shitty God figure. He clearly didn't care about them, he had left them to the mercy of the Capitol.

A loud horn erupted and the large, double decker bus arrived. The door to it opened, beckoning the helpless lambs to move to the coming horror of the Games. Aylin stepped onto the bus as quickly as she could, managing to snag one of the good seats from Dashell and his family. The twelve year old looked at Aylin with sadness, though moved on without a fight. Aylin snorted angrily at the display, hating his weak nature.

_'Grow the fuck up, kid.'_ She thought to herself. _'It doesn't get any easier.'_

* * *

There were very few secret places in District 9.

Ever since the religious uprisings, Capitol control over District 9's urban hub had been heightened to levels that hadn't been seen since the Dark Days. Peacekeepers patrolled every neighborhoods with assault weapons, hovercrafts and drones flew overhead, camera's hung from every corner, and propaganda posters were plastered on every building, all demanding submission. The District's already twisted form of justice became even more brutal to the perpetrator, violence now serving as the only voice of law.

There was a time though when the heavy hand lifted, only slightly, to allow for the District's vice activities to commence.

During the twilight hours of morning and night, the Peacekeeper guard changed, opening a brief window of respite for the District. It was during this time, as a red sun rose over the District, that seventeen year old Dagan Hollis awaited his addicts to come for their product.

The drug dealing life wasn't what Dagan imagined as a future career for him, yet here he was. Just trying to get by like everyone else. Not that he was going to complain if anyone asked him why he was a dealer. Everyone expected there to be a tragic story behind his descent into morphling dealing, at such a young age as well. Dagan didn't feel like giving them the satisfaction and didn't like people thinking that tragic circumstances led him into this life.

Well... Dagan supposed that the execution of his dad, eventual death of his mom, and abandonment by his older sister _was_ tragic. But he wasn't going to complain about it to anyone. Everyone had problems and Dagan had found somewhat of a solution to his. He was surviving and that's all that mattered.

Right at the assigned time, two figures appeared from the shadows of the burned down alcohol fermentation plant. They were typical morphling addicts, with unkempt hair, wide eyes, yellow skin, and nervous twitching of the limbs.

"You have it?" the first demanded fiercely, throwing a nervous hand to his mouth when he realized how loud he was. Paranoid eyes darted every direction, looking for the omnipresent Capitol.

"I do. You have the money?" Dagan asked, forcing himself to remain calm. He had learned early on that if you were even a little jumpy, morphlings become irrationally insane. His second time dealing, Peacekeepers had almost caught him because a morphling was screaming how hellhounds were going to devour him.

"Yes!" the other morphling shouted, holding up a dirty rucksack. "It's all there! Now where's the stuff?"

"Money first." Dagan insisted.

The morphling twitched, teeth grinding against each other harshly. "T-that wasn't... no!" he hissed, squinting to concentrate. "Give us it!"

"Not until you hand over-"

"Give it to us!" the second one shouted, his yellow, elongated nails burying into his skin.

Dagan remained unmoved. "Don't try to bullshit me, you two." he said in as much of an authoritative voice as he could. "You know how this works. Money first and then I give you the stuff. You play by my rules, alright? It's not like you have anywhere else to go."

It was true. The Peacekeepers had burned District 9's two black markets to the ground, forcing most of the morphling dealers to the streets. Not that it was much better there as Peacekeepers quickly arrested them as well. The Capitol had also ordered a recall of most morphling supplies in the District, drying up the supply almost entirely. The only place that had large quantities of morphling was the Peacekeeper Headquarters, which no one was stupid enough to go near.

After a short debate, the morphlings tossed the money to Dagan, who counted it slowly. Once he was sure it was all there, Dagan pointed behind the morphlings.

"It's by that wall, combination 15-25-20." he said.

The morphlings squealed in delight and ran for the supply cache, howling in delight when they saw it all there. Dagan left happily, knowing the morphlings wouldn't try and double cross him. Even if there were more dealers, morphlings were not strong enough to put up enough of a fight. Besides, Dagan was rather muscular for a District 9 orphan.

Carefully, Dagan made his way through the city. The guard was changing but drones still flew above, invisible to those on the ground. Someone had once told Dagan that the drones were so advanced that they could monitor someone's heart rate. Dagan thought that was bullshit, but he wouldn't put it past the Capitol to be capable of something like that. They did create arenas of death every year _and_ freaky mutts to go with it.

Dagan shook his head sadly, thinking about the upcoming Reaping. His name was only in there the minimal number of times since Dagan had never taken out tesserae. Due to his homeless situation, signing up for tesserae was a difficult exercise as he had no permanent home to send the supplies to. He could have gone to live in District 9's orphanage, but too many horror stories came out of there for Dagan to feel comfortable. Just seeing Hunger Games tributes that lived in orphanages was enough of deterrence as well; they always seemed to be insane.

Suddenly, Dagan was drawn away from his thoughts when he noticed a familiar brown haired girl nearby, talking with an older, rugged looking man. In the earlier morning light, Dagan struggled to make out her face clearly. Once he did though, a wave of emotions rushed over him as he instinctively charged the figure.

"Boston!" he called out as quietly as he could.

Boston Hollis, Dagan's twenty year old sister, gasped in shocked when she heard and then saw Dagan. The man she was with turned to look at Dagan too, caught off guard by the approaching boy.

"Who the hell is he?" the man demanded of Boston.

Still shocked to see Dagan, Boston offered no immediate response, her mouth remaining open in shock. At the moment, another man appeared from the shadows behind Dagan, forcing him into a chokehold. Dagan struggled for breath, fear overcoming him as the man's grip tightened around his throat.

"Let him go!" Boston said, coming to her senses. "He's my brother!"

"You have a brother?" the first man said, clearly surprised by the development.

Dagan choked out a derisive chuckle, not surprised that Boston didn't tell anyone about him. The first man nodded to the second, causing the arm around Dagan's neck to vanish. Dagan struggled for breath, but composed himself enough to get to his feet once more. As he did, Boston and the man communicated in hushed voices, exchanges packages and what appeared to be letters. The man, satisfied with what he received, left with the second, leaving Dagan and his sister alone.

Boston stood still as Dagan regained his balance, looking nervously at him. Dagan returned her stare, both Hollis children unsure of what to say.

"Boston." Dagan began, clearing his throat.

"Dagan." she replied, barely holding his gaze.

Despite the danger of being out in the open, neither of them moved a muscle. After almost half a minute, Dagan began chuckling again. "You can actually feel the awkwardness." he said.

Silence again.

"It's been a while." Boston said.

"Yeah, I'd say two years is a while too." Dagan replied, trying to sound as civil as possible. "Longer than last time, huh? You've gotten really good at hiding from me."

"Oh shut up." Boston snapped, turning to leave her brother. Dagan wasn't willing to let her get off that easily though.

"Did you even try to find me after the riots?" Dagan asked, following his sister from a short distance. "Weren't you scared that I was dead?"

"I knew you weren't." Boston said, still not turning back. "Everything's always worked out for you. I also knew you wouldn't be stupid enough to get caught up in all that silly religious nonsense."

"Wow... so sibling rivalry is still strong with you, huh?" Dagan said, his civil facade slipping. "I guess that makes sense. You probably don't think I've changed since you left home. When I was ten!"

"Would you shut up!" Boston said harshly, finally turning to face Dagan.

"No I won't! I don't care if Peacekeepers find us, because I want to have a conversation with you! Since you left me seven years ago, we've only talked twice, this being our third! The first was for like five minutes when mom died and the other when I found those letters!"

Boston's face morphed into one of total rage as she slapped her brother across the face. "What part of shut up don't you understand?" she demanded.

"Don't hit me, Boston!" Dagan shouted back, letting the pent up anger come forth. He thought about following up with something, maybe a slap of his own, but came up with nothing. Brother and sister looked at each other angrily for a while before Boston pulled away, attempting to control her emotions. Dagan did the same, knowing he shouldn't have said anything about the letters.

He had found them two years ago in a hidden compartment under his home's floors. When their mom had died, Dagan was left by himself since his father was already executed and Boston was completely out of the picture. Unwilling to go to an orphanage, Dagan had begun squatting in his own home, which was technically a condemned home in the District's records. While trying to find a better place to store his morphling supply, Dagan had stumbled across them, surprised to see that some were written in his dad's handwriting. It was all encoded though, making no sense to Dagan. Unsure of what to do, he spent days searching the city for Boston. When he found her, living with friends, she became deathly scared and burned the letters after checking them over.

Dagan didn't have a clue of what was in those letters, but he was sure they were part of the reason his dad was killed.

"You look... well..." Boston commented, her features calmer.

Surprised by the comment, Dagan smiled back at his sister. "Thanks, you too."

"What are you..."

Boston stopped herself, unsure if she really wanted to ask what he did to survive. Dagan had no problem telling his sister though. "I'm working the black market, selling what's left of mom's morphling prescriptions."

"You're on the black market?" Boston asked, a mix of humor, surprise, and judgment in her tone.

Dagan narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, I am. I'm doing pretty well too, so don't judge me."

With a sad smile, Boston replied. "Of course you're doing good. You always managed everything with flying colors."

Feeling as though she was assuaging some guilt, Dagan turned around to show her up. "Not everything, Boston." he said, lifting his shirt to reveal whip scars on his back. He looked judgingly at Boston for a moment, a sense of delight in seeing her horror, before softening his tone. "Boston... can I please live with you?"

"What?" Boston said, caught off guard.

"Can I please live with you?" Dagan repeated. "I... I really need my sister."

Guilt was plainly written across Boston's face, but not enough guilt to change her mind after seven year. "I'm sorry, Dagan. You can't."

Silence fell over them for a third time. Dagan felt the fight leave him due to rejection's bitter sting. Without another word, Boston gave her brother a hug off guard. Dagan attempted to return it, but Boston pulled away before he could wrap his arms around her thin body. She gave him one last glance before running off into the alleyway, eager to make it to her home.

Leaving Dagan alone once more.

* * *

Aylin was the first off the bus when they arrived in the city's outer ring, desperate to escape the hot and sweaty box she was forced to ride in for almost five hours. As she absorbed the cool summer breeze, she also took in the changed city landscape.

The city was a skeleton of what it had been the last time she was in it. It had never been a very urban place, but business buildings, apartment complexes, housing for the District upper class, and government agencies had provided the area with at least some life. Most of that now appeared to be either gone or damaged, with most buildings smoldering ruins from what Aylin assumed was bombing. Peacekeepers patrolled everything in sight as well, all of them wearing combat armor instead of the ceremonial armor they usual wore for the Reapings.

"Such a grim place." Andrea remarked softly to her family.

"Let's just get the Reaping done and get out of here." Kaleb told his wife, giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

Aylin couldn't agree more and led her family towards the inner ring of the city. As the moved through the outer and middle rings of the city, the building damage became less intense while the human damage increased. All around them, maimed individuals laid scattered about. The Peacekeepers had quickly realized that killing the religious zealots did not dissuade others from their cause, only heightened it as the dead were turned into martyrs. Instead, Peacekeepers began maiming zealots by cutting off finger, limbs, and even tongues. Broken bones was also common as they were equally as painful and were, for the most part, never given the chance to heal.

They may go to paradise in death, but they'd live the rest of their lives on earth in misery.

_'Not that they're much better off now.'_ Aylin thought.

Eventually, the reached the inner ring and Aylin peeled off to check in herself. Her younger brother went in on his own, Aylin not sticking around to make sure he went compliantly.

As the square began to fill up, Aylin couldn't help but notice a sharp decrease in the child population. The rebels must have been particular bad for Peacekeepers to target children as well as adults. If one believed the rumors, about a fourth of the District's population had either been killed or permanently maimed by the revolts. Aylin tried to feel some sympathy, but wasn't able to muster any. People died all the time, that's just how Panem was. You could spend your entire life moping like an idiot or you could move on and try to make something of yourself. Nobody who was weak every made it anywhere in Panem.

Once in the fifteen year old section, Aylin settled in and awaited for the Reaping to be over with. Girls milled around her, attempting to converse about anything other than the Reaping or the apocalyptic situation the District faced. Aylin just wished they'd shut up. Nobody was saying anything of worth, merely prattling on to sooth his or her nerves.

Finally, the proceedings began. The mayor, who looked like a skeleton due to stress, read off the Treaty of Treason and launched the Capitol's propaganda video quickly. Aylin noticed that most people were trembling around her as the propaganda played, the calm voice of their tyrannical President Snow bringing forth fear that had been instilled at birth. The video ended and the escort stepped forward, either oblivious to the horrendous conditions in the District or a very skilled actor.

Aylin liked to think the former. She hated giving Capitolites _to_ much credit for anything.

"Greetings District 9! Happy 77th Hunger Games!" she said excitedly. "Aren't you all excited for this year's tributes? We were so close to victory last year, I just know that this year we'll have a Victor!"

Mentioning last year's tributes was not the best move the escort could have made. A wave of emotion swept through the crowd, kids and adults alike. Last year's tributes, Raven and Anastasia, had been turned into martyr figures for the religious upheaval. Any mention of them publicly was considered taboo and warrant for a whipping.

Of course, the escort had no knowledge of this, as she was only required to be in District 9 for one day a year. Unless a Victor was produced, which there hadn't been in a very long time. District 9 currently had no Victors, thanks to the Third Quarter Quell, leaving the mentoring up to a Capitol appointed trainer.

The escort made a few more encouraging comments before trotting over to the girl's bowl. A slip was pulled and then opened, the escort happily ringing off the slip's held name.

"Aylin Henrickson!"

As soon as her name was called, Aylin was overcome with an odd mix of feelings. Part of her was fearful of the probable coming doom, while another part of her was resigned to it. She had always figured that at least one of the Henrickson children would be Reaped, why not her? She was by far the toughest of the eight children, the least emotional, and the least important.

But also the one most likely to win.

Yes... it was terrifying to think about, but Aylin suddenly felt a surge of joy at being Reaped. She knew she could compete, she knew she could kill, and she knew she had a shot at winning. And if she did, she'd never have to deal with her family again. Aylin would live a life of luxury while they stayed in the dirt, struggling to get by.

With those positive thoughts, Aylin stepped out of her section and made her way to the stage with a confident smile. Her positivity stunned the escort and everyone else there; who had become accustomed to teary eyed or enraged children being brought to the stage. Aylin grunted, remembering Anastasia crying her eyes out as she took the stage last year. Despite the good she could have done as Victor, Aylin was rather happy that Anastasia didn't win. The thirteen year old was a crying, over dependent mess that would have constantly embarrassed the District. Raven Kellar would have been a better Victor if he hadn't been stupid enough to get his head chopped off.

_'At least I'll be a good Victor for this shit hole.'_ Aylin thought happily.

As the escort pulled a name from the boy's bowl, Aylin caught the eyes of her siblings. They looked at her sadly, mouthing apologies and her name. Aylin snorted when she saw them, hoping that the cameras didn't find them. They'd completely ruin her image in the Capitol.

The escort returned to the microphone, calling out Aylin's fellow tribute. She just hoped he was competent and could be used for a little to help get by.

"Dagan Hollis!"

A short pause as the audience searched for the unfortunate boy. Someone managed to find him and soon everyone was giving him expectant glances to get up on stage. It looked as if he had been daydreaming, as he shook in shock when he realized what had happened.

Slowly, Dagan exited his section and made his way to the stage, helped by the pushes of Peacekeepers. He was two years older than Aylin, with messy, pitch black hair, underdeveloped facial hair, and a thin, though muscular, frame. He was still suffering from puberty as bits of acne dotted his cheeks, the bright red dots contrasting with dark brown eyes that looked like rotted fruit.

Overall, Aylin was unimpressed. He looked strong, but he also looked unsure and a bit off. The Reaping wasn't the best time to judge someone of course, but Aylin had at least made an effort to look tough. Dagan had not, so clearly he was not as committed to his survival as Aylin was her own.

_'See how he does in training first, Aylin. If he's no good, then dump his_ ass.' She thought, _'You can't be carrying dead weight, even if he is your partner.'_

Dagan took to the stage, managing a smile as he stood next to the oddly dressed escort and uptight looking partner. The escort gazed over her two tributes, rather pleased with this year's pick. Both of them certainly looked tough and capable, maybe her rhetoric earlier would come true!

"These two seem promising, don't they?" the escort said, addressing the audience. Oddly enough, the audience gave somewhat of a response with a few mutters of approval and even some shaking heads. Aylin smiled, pleased with her District's approval, while Dagan couldn't help but look angrily at the audience. He wasn't entirely sure why he was mad, it wasn't like he had friends or relatives who were abandoning him to die. Nobody in the audience knew him, meaning they were more than willing to let him die.

Thinking of relatives, Dagan's gaze turned to the adult's section, searching desperately for Boston. He was stopped though when he felt a hand forcibly begin shaking his, bringing him back to reality. He turned to see his partner looking at him with disapproval as she did the customary tribute handshake, entirely one sided.

"Can you at least try and pay attention?" Aylin asked, annoyance clear in his voice.

Dagan's grip tightened around Aylin's, showing he was more than capable... of something. Dagan's mind was in a full free fall, still stunned that he had been Reaped.

_'A perfect cherry on top of my shitty life.'_ he thought angrily.

* * *

**District** **10**

"Ok guys, I'm not shitting you, this totally happened!"

Sterling Taylor snorted, "Well this should be interesting." he said.

His other two friends, Justin and Sutton, laughed with Sterling, eagerly awaiting their friend Ethan's upcoming tale. The four seventeen year olds were out in the twilight hours of the day, waiting for the commune's cows to finish grazing. As usual, the activity was rather boring.

Ethan, undeterred, continued with his story. "Ok, so I was out last night, just moving through the fields out here to make sure all the calves were back with there mom's, right?"

"Naturally." Sutton said, rolling her eyes.

"So I was out and about and all of sudden I see this girl walking through the fields!" Ethan continued. "And I was like, 'Hey! Are you ok?' and she turns to me, all sad eyed and teary looking."

"Of course she was." Justin commented.

"Shush! Let him finish!" Sterling said, enraptured by the story. Justin and Sutton gave each other a look, hating it when Sterling was unable to discern reality from Ethan's bullshit stories.

"The girl was like 'No, I'm not ok! It's the Reaping tomorrow and I'm really scared! I just want someone to comfort me!'" Ethan continued, speech becoming faster as he grew excited. "So I was like 'Oh I can totally do that!' and she was like 'Oh you can?' and I said 'sure can'. So I started making out with her! Just getting it on nice and dirty in the field!"

"As the only girl of this group, I'd like to say that no girl would want to roll around in the dirt while making out." Sutton commented.

"Well this girl was special!" Ethan insisted.

"What's her name?" Sutton shot back.

A pause as Ethan's mind froze, frustrated he'd forgotten an important piece in his story. "Um... Christine..."

"Christine? Really?" Justin said incredulously.

"Yeah! She's from the commune over! She was a really good kisser, even let me go dow-"

"Ok! That's enough of that!" Sutton interrupted.

"Oh come on, Sutton!" Ethan laughed. "You've heard all our sexual escapades! You've even told us yours!"

"That stuff was true, not a steaming pile of bullshit like yours!"

"She has you beat there, Ethan." Justin pointed out.

"Don't be so rough on him, guys!" Sterling said, standing up for his friend. "If Ethan said he met someone, he met someone!"

Ethan smiled happily at Justin and Sutton. "Thanks buddy! You're a real stand up guy! We really need to find you a girl, you know? Why girls aren't throwing themselves at you is beyond me!"

It was true, Sterling was a beauty that most only saw from District 1 children. He was a tall, muscular seventeen year old, with mesmerizing hazel eyes that shined kindness to everyone. His dark blond hair and bronze skin screamed a life of fieldwork, along with a few scars from his trade. They weren't ugly scars though, instead giving him a look of a rugged hero, an aspect only highlighted by his youthful appearance. His most endearing quality was perhaps his smile, which could cause almost anyone to smile with him.

"A regular country boy here!" Ethan said happily. "You know, someone told me that Capitol girls get wet at the thought of ranching boys! They're a bunch of kinky ladies who just want to be tied down like a cow and screwed by a handsome cowboy! Even some guys too."

Sutton opened her mouth to protest Ethan's crude picture, but stopped herself when she realized he was probably right. Everyone knew that the Capitol had odd tastes, why should they stop with sexual ones?

Sterling was perplexed though. "Why would anyone want to be tied down? Wouldn't that get uncomfortable?"

Ethan and the others looked at Sterling with blank looks, always finding it awkward explaining in great detail sexual desires. Luckily the grazing timer went off, signaling it was time to bring the cattle into the barn. The friends broke apart, herding the cattle back into their designated barns.

The ranching life was the only life the four teens had known, having spent all their lives living in the commune with other families. In District 10, when people got married at the Justice Building they were given Career options for their family unit to follow. Sterling and his friend's parents all applied for an received a ranching license, none of them knowing each other. The families were then assigned a certain commune in the District, where they'd take up designated duties and ensure the commune produced the required quota for the Capitol.

Most communes were made up of six to eight families, forming a tight knit, family like community. Sterling, Justin, Ethan, and Sutton had all been born at the same time and had been inseparable since. They were the eldest children in the commune, growing up together and treating each other like siblings. Sutton was the mature, motherly figure of the group, Justin was the more reserved, intellect member, Sterling was the simple yet good natured kid, and Ethan was the crazy kid of the group, always looking for life's high.

Once the cattle had all been herded, the four teens left the pasture to begin heading home. "See you guys for the bus?" Sterling asked.

They all nodded their heads in agreement, except for Sutton who said her family was taking a later bus. With another extended round of goodbyes, the four friends went their separate paths to prepare for the rest of the day. Sterling enjoyed the short walk back to his house, taking in the beautiful day around him. The sky was cloudless, a calm wind was blowing through, birds were chirping, and the smell of cow manure wasn't overbearing that morning. Sterling had learned early in life to appreciate the little things in life, as sometimes the bigger things aren't always as great.

Walking up to his house, Sterling entered to see everything abuzz. Sterling's young half siblings were running about playfully, the youngest charging Sterling.

"AAAH! DIE GIANT!" Eight year old Austin screamed at his older brother, attacking Sterling with a stick. Sterling dropped lower and gave a playful roar as Austin began attacking him. Easily, Sterling swatted the stick away and picked his little brother up, throwing him over his shoulder as Austin kicked out.

"Help! Help me!" he called out, beating against Sterling's back.

"You cannot escape!" Sterling shouted.

"Let him go!" Sterling's other siblings, Annabelle and Rose, called out. The eleven and ten year old jumped on Sterling too, laughing and trying to weigh him down. Sterling was too strong though and managed to carry all three of them into the kitchen.

"I have food for you to chop up and feed me, mom!" Sterling called out in a dramatized voice, dangling three children around him.

Alicia, Sterling's step mom, turned to her see her children screaming for their giant brother to die. She gave them displeased, though slightly humorous, looks. "Annabelle, Rose, Austin, what have we talked about?"

The three children looked at their mother with resigned looks, expecting a lecture.

Alicia broke her character though, a sly smile coming to her face. "You have to go for the legs next time! It's the only way to bring him down!" she instructed.

The girls tried to do that, but Alicia broke them apart before the fighting could continue. "Annabelle and Rose, outside for your baths! Not you Austin! You're getting to old to bath with them!"

"But mom! It's quicker!" Austin pleaded.

"No. Older boys don't bath with girls." Alicia insisted.

Sterling thought briefly about another one of Ethan's stories, but wisely kept his mouth shut. An innocent Austin was the best Austin.

Austin ran off to wait for his turn to bathe, leaving Sterling and his stepmother alone. Alicia gave him a smile, turning to hand him some bread. "We're running a bit low on food, as usual, so we'll have to buy stuff after the Reaping." she said.

Sterling nodded. "I can help with that." he said.

"Oh don't you worry about it. I'm sure you and your friends will be caught up in the festivals anyways." Alicia said.

Sterling chuckled, appreciative of Alicia's foresight. Sterling had never known his birth mother as she had died in childbirth, but Alicia had filled that spot nicely. She had first entered Sterling's life when he was six, creating concern in Sterling's mind as he fretted she'd be an evil one like all the stories said stepmothers were. Alicia turned out to be the complete opposite though, as she loved Sterling like one of her own. The day after Sterling's father and Alicia married, Sterling was already calling Alicia 'mom'. She hadn't let him down since.

"I have something I need you to run to your dad." Alicia said, picking up a box from the counter. "Some of our spare tubes for a pumper. Mr. White needs them for his cattle."

"Mr. White?" Sterling said, surprised and nervous.

Alicia nodded her head. "His out back with your dad now. I told him I'd bring them down but I'm busy getting ready. Could you do it for me?" she asked.

Sterling nodded his head, taking the box with nervous hands. Alicia sensed this and placed a comforting hand on Sterling's shoulder.

"Just don't say anything this time, Sterling." Alicia said.

Sterling nodded his head and left the house, walking towards the figures of his dad and Mr. White. Behind him, Annabelle and Rose were nude and splashing about in the family's metal bathtub. They laughed happily and threw water towards Sterling, causing Sterling to wave them off without looking. Even if they weren't his sister's, Sterling never looked at woman nude. It wasn't because he was nervous, it was just him trying to be polite. Nudity wasn't exactly a foreign concept in the commune due to lack of clothing, limited bathing options, and blistering summers.

Crossing their large backyard, Sterling came up to his father and Mr. White with a smile. "I brought your tubes, sir." Sterling said to Mr. White.

Dean, Sterling's mid forties father, smiled happily at him. "Thank you son, we've been meaning to get them to Mr. White for a while now."

Angus White opened the box and examined the tubing, satisfied with what he saw. "This will due nicely. Saves me a trip into town."

Dean and Angus continued chatting for a little, while Sterling stood nearby nervously. Angus and him had a bit of rough spot when he got overly emotional about Angus's daughter's death in the Hunger Games. Willabeana White, last year's tribute, had developed into a bit of District heroine since her death. She wasn't the longest lasting tribute in last year's Games, dying short of half way through, but her actions were commendable. Willabeana had faced down two psychopaths to protect District 9's female tribute, even giving her life for the little girl. It was a brave move, a move that had garnered her the respect of many in the District. Apparently, the name Willa was a popular name this year for baby girls.

Sterling had never known Willabeana that well as she lived a commune over, but they had attended the same school. They didn't talk much, but Willabeana always seemed nice. Perhaps they would have gotten along better if Sterling hadn't dropped out. Not that he regretted dropping out. His dyslexia and below average intelligence made things difficult in school. Farm work was much more agreeable to Sterling.

A few minutes later, Angus had left the Taylor clan to make the trip back to his own ranch. Sterling watched him go sadly. "I still feel awful for him." He commented.

Dean turned to his son, an understanding smile on his face. He threw an arm around his son, pulling him in tightly. "It's not easy losing a kid, son." He said. "You don't ever recover from it."

As Angus's figure disappeared, Sterling felt an odd feeling pass through his gut.

What would happen if he was Reaped?

* * *

"How are we feeling today, Clarimonde?"

Clair looked at the doctor with suspicion, always thrown off by his proper mannerism. "You can just call me Clair." she mumbled, for what seemed the thousandth time since he started examining her. They were in the living room, as they always were, with Clair's twenty year old brother, Lennox, overseeing things. Clair's legal guardians, her grandparents, were lost in their own worlds.

"Very well." The doctor said, uncommitted. "Now how are you feeling?"

With a sigh, Clair adjusted her cheap, dark rimmed glasses, as she did whenever she was nervous. "I... I'm fine, I guess."

"You guess?"

"Yeah... well... um... it hurts still..."

"What does? The scars or the headaches?"

"The headaches." Clair said immediately, hating the mention of the burn marks along her pale limbs. They were hardly severe, and after eight years had mostly healed, but they always conjured up bad thoughts. That's where the headaches came from.

The doctor tisked in annoyance, always disappointed with Clair's reserved nature. He absolutely despised patients who appeared weak willed or simpletons.

"Are these headaches related to the dreams you've been having?" the doctor continued.

"... I don't want to talk about this..." Clair mumbled, leaning away from the doctor.

"We have to, Clarimonde. It's the only way you'll get better."

"I am fine!" Clair nearly snapped. "Why don't you help Grandma instead?"

As to back her up, or dissuade the doctor, Clair's grandma piped up from her rocking chair. "Lennox!" she groveled at Clair. "Lennox, don't raise your voice! You'll wake your grandpa!"

The real Lennox rolled his eyes. "Grandma, Grandpa went out for a walk. Like he always does." he said.

"Oh... well I'm sure when he gets back he'll want to sleep!" Clair's grandma, Jemima, said. "He's always exhausted after a twelve hour shift at the plant!"

Clair looked at her grandma with sadness, always disheartened when the dementia she suffered from set in. Clair's grandpa, Tolliver, was a seventy-one year old man who hadn't worked at the meat processing factory in almost ten years. He instead spent all day wandering the city, wondering where he was at random moments or attempting to start fights with Peacekeepers. They were kind enough not to hurt an old man, but Clair and Lennox knew the Peacekeeper's patience was wearing thin.

"See?" Clair said. "You should help her instead of me! She isn't doing well!"

The doctor, and Lennox, sighed, annoyed by Clair's willingness to be ignorant. "You know there's nothing I can do." the doctor replied.

Clair said nothing, knowing he spoke the truth. District 10 wasn't equipped to deal with mental diseases, it was barely able to deal with physical ones. The most mental therapy that someone could receive was medicine for headaches and a sit down with a doctor, who'd act as a therapist for an extra cost.

As he was doing with Clair, since Lennox had insisted he do ever since Clair's nightmares started four years ago.

They were all the same. Darkness... and then a flicker of fire. Soon the flicker would grow in size and become a flame, then a blaze, and then an inferno, with Clair in the middle of it. The fire never touched her though, as when she reached out for the flame, it backed away. After a while of burning, screams would be heard, human screams of suffering. For a moment before she woke up, Clair could smell burning flesh and would awake screaming, fearful that she was on fire.

Sometimes, she thought she saw figures in the fire, which bore an uncanny resemblance to her deceased parents. Whenever she said she'd seen them, Lennox would become aggravated and demand that the doctor give her some pills to take. Clair didn't like when that happened. The pills always made her feel woozy and her mind become foggy. The dreams subsided with them, but Clair felt as though the pills took away her mind, making her head feel hollow.

The doctor asked a few more questions before he got up to leave, followed by Lennox to their front door. Clair, curious as always, followed them and eavesdropped from around the corner.

"The memories are still buried," the doctor told Lennox. "But they won't be for much longer."

"Can't you keep giving her those pills?" Lennox pleaded.

The doctor snorted, perhaps insulted. "If I do, she'll turn into a vegetable. I shouldn't even be giving those to her in the first place, it'd ruin my reputation."

"You're a back alley doctor," Lennox hissed. "Your reputation shouldn't be your top concern."

"Is that a threat, Mr. Amberson?" the doctor asked. "Because if it is, I want you to know I'm more than capable of bringing you and your sister down with me."

Silence fell over the two of them, the air tense with pride and anger. "No, it wasn't a threat." Lennox finally conceded. "I just want to make sure my sister gets the best treatment."

"She isn't getting treatment, and you know it." the doctor shot back. "If you want to truly help her, tell her the truth."

"I can't, she wouldn't be able to handle it."

"Perhaps," the doctor said bluntly. "But the truth is always better, no matter how harsh it is."

The doctor then made his final goodbyes and the door closed behind him. As it did, Clair rushed away, stopping by her grandmother's side. Jemima looked down at her granddaughter, a smile coming to her face.

"I hope you're enjoying living her, Clair." Jemima said, sympathy in her voice. "You and your brother are so strong."

"Thanks, grandma." Clair said.

"It's not everyday your house and parents burn, huh sweetie? But you know, you've always liked fire."

Clair stiffened at the mention of the fire, the mental image of her dream inferno coming to mind. It was true, Clair was fascinated by fire when she should be cowering in fear of it. It was something she could never understand, but the idea of it intrigued it. How powerful it was, how necessary it was to life, how people cherished it and what it could do for them. Fire was beautiful and deadly… a unique combination that Clair couldn't help but respect.

"Clair!" Lennox snapped. "It's time to get ready for the Reaping."

Sighing, Clair got to her feet and left her grandma alone. As she left the room, Clair heard her grandma humming and singing an old tune about someone jumping over a fire for fun.

_'That sounds… fun…'_ Clair thought to herself, the image of jumping over fire daring and intriguing.

* * *

It was almost noon when the Taylor family arrived in District 10's main city, along with dozens of other buses. Sterling's parents were the first of the family off, followed by Sterling's younger siblings and then himself. As he stepped off the bus, Sterling wrinkled his nose in disgust, pleased his family did not live in the city. The majority of the District's population lived in a rural setting, either in a solo plot of land or a ranching community, but not everyone did.

The poorest of the poor lived in the city. Those men and women worked as butchers and factory slaves, cutting and processing various meats all day long. As for such a lifestyle, the majority of the city and its inhabitant smelled of and looked like death. It was smell that didn't leave ones nostrils, and Sterling was happy he had limited exposure to it. When the time came to kill their cattle, Sterling and his father rented a cart and brought them to the city to be killed. Only the chickens were killed on the farm, the stench and mess manageable compared to cows.

Luckily, the architects of the city had the good sense to realize the smell issue. Thus, all government buildings had been built a short distance outside the city, unlike in the center like most Districts. Besides removing the smell issue, it also made organizing the District children for the Reaping easier as they could spread out in a field instead of being cramped into a few city blocks.

"Where's Victor Village?" Austin asked suddenly.

"About a mile or two outside the city." Alicia told her son.

"Can we see it?"

"Not today, sweetie. It's in the opposite direction of home."

"Aww... my friend told me it was like heaven! Like, they had a _huge _fountain of chocolate in there!"

Sterling and his parents gave each other looks, knowing it was nothing more than a hospice these days. District 10, like all outlier Districts, had few Victors to show for, with only two of its Victors still alive. The older of the two was a woman in her sixties named Mollie Scythe, who was a recluse until the Games rolled around and she served as the District's only mentor.

The other Victor, in his late fifties, had been ostracized from Capitol and District life following the rapes of three teenage girls. His only defense had been the Capitol kept fucking him. Or at least, that's what he had been screaming at people and Peacekeepers. It was a complicated matter, only furthered by the apparent murders of his parents and younger siblings. The Capitol hated killing Victors, preferring they act as symbols for as long as possible, and kept the rapist Victor alive for their own use. He now served a nasty legacy for District 10 tributes.

Since Sterling was the only child who was eligible for Reaping, he made his goodbyes to his family and headed to the Reaping by himself. Occasionally he saw someone he knew and offered them his typical smile and 'howdy'. The mood was largely somber though, meaning most people were shocked or offended by Sterling's chipper mood. As he waited in line, Sterling looked around for Justin, Ethan, or Sutton. Eventually, Justin arrived and began chatting Sterling up. Ethan arrived shortly after, rambling on about a girl.

"We're going to hang out a little after the Reaping!" Ethan sad happily.

"What's her name?" Sterling asked.

"Oh... um... Claire..."

Both Justin and Sterling rolled their eyes. "Why does this District have so many girls named Claire?" Sterling asked, to which neither boy had a response. It was an oddly popular one, giving it a bit of negative connotation as someone who was dull and plain.

Suddenly the crowd began splitting as a Sutton barged through waiting boys and girl, eager to stand with her friends.

"Sorry I'm late. I told my dad we'd have to take the earlier bus but he just insisted we could take a later one so Brydon could get more sleep."

"Your dad's favoritism is showing." Ethan remarked.

Sutton shrugged. "It's a fad for now. I'm just waiting until Brydon hits puberty and goes crazy. Anyways, there's something I think we should all check out during the Reaping Festivals."

"Can't! I'm getting hot and sweaty with a beautiful girl!" Ethan said happily.

"Oh yeah? What's her name? Claire?"

Ethan paused while Justin and Sterling snickered. "Maybe..." Ethan mumbled, causing his three other friends to laugh raucously. When they calmed down, thanks to a sharp warning from a Peacekeeper, Sutton continued.

"Anyways, this thing I heard about is some kind of meeting. Something about religion. I thought it be cool if we all went to check it out."

The mention of religion caused the boys to become nervous. "How did you hear about this?" Ethan asked.

"Some guy on the bus was whispering to people about it, totally secretive an everything!" she replied. "Come on, it should be interesting at least."

"Are you sure, Sutton?" Justin asked. "Religion's not exactly... you know... good to be associated with."

"I know! But I'm only interested because apparently District 9 is really big on this stuff." Sutton explained. "Think about it, this is a chance to see what's going on in another District!"

That was interesting enough, causing Sterling to immediately give his approval. Justin eventually gave his, leaving Ethan to feel excluded due to his date. "Maybe I could bring Claire!" he said.

Eventually they were all signed in and went to their sections. From across the aisle, the boys made funny faces and gestures at Sutton, who was surrounded by a bunch of well dressed, non-tom boy girls. Sutton gave each of her friends the finger as they laughed at her discomfort.

They calmed down once the mayor, government officials, and Victors took the stage. The mayor made his opening remarks, the Treaty was read, and the over stylized video was played. Sterling knew it was just propaganda, but he couldn't help but feel inspired when the glowing silhouette of the proud Victor appeared. He remembered when he was younger, before he really understood the horror of the Games, how he wished to compete in the Games one day and be a hero. He'd win the Games honorably, killing the Career's like the monsters they were, and would be loved by the Capitol and his District.

Now, older, he knew how twisted the Games truly were. He knew that there was no honor in the Games, that the Careers were more often than not more complicated than they appeared, and that he'd never gain the love of both the Capitol and his District. It was all just a sham.

But it was an alluring sham nonetheless...

The video ended and the escort quickly got down to business. Sterling was immediately distracted by the escort's earrings, which were regular sized, golden cowbells. How they weren't tearing off her ears was a mystery to him. Her hands too had been darkened and gloved to make them look like hooves.

"Welcome all of you, to the 77th Hunger Games Reaping!" The escort said happily, her bells chiming as her head bobbled. "The Gamemakers have promised us an exciting arena this year, and I for one can not wait to see it! I just know that, no matter what it is, District 10 will be able to conquer it!"

Audience members turned to face one another, figuring that the escort had to be talking about another District. The past few Games hadn't been very kind to their District, with usually one of their tributes dying in the Bloodbath and the other dying some horrendous death by Career or mutt shortly after. It had changed last year when Willabeana and Kaden managed to make it past the Bloodbath together. In the long run, it didn't mean much though as they later turned on one another, with Kaden trying to kill Willabeana by sword and drowning while she leaving him to die by Victor Willow Bark's hand.

The escort made a few more comments about having a good year before she walked over to the girl's Reaping bowl. _'Please don't be Sutton! Please don't be Sutton! Or Claire I guess...'_ Sterling thought, as the escort pulled the slip from the bowl. Her hoof hands opened up the paper and her bells jingled as she laughed happily at the name in front of her.

"Clarimonde Amberson!"

The usual silence fell over the crowd as they waited for the Reaped child to show herself. After thirty seconds, she appeared from the fourteen year old section, her scared face lighting up the massive television sets. Clarimonde was a small girl, barely above five foot and probably weighing less than a hundred pounds. Her body was literally skin and bones, the skin sticking to the bones and face tightly. Her large eyes gazed out from behind dark glasses and greasy, brown hair that barely reached her shoulders. Upon closer inspection, Sterling noticed Clarimonde appeared to have scars running up her arms, which were partially covered by dirty gloves and a long dress. In her hands was a rotting box cartridge, with what appeared to be matches.

The Peacekeepers guided the petrified girl onto the stage, taking away her matchbox in the process. Sterling racked his memory to see if he recognized her from anywhere. As she stood next to the escort, Sterling concluded that he had not as she had to have been from the city, judging by her pale and weak frame. Sterling still couldn't help but feel bad though as he knew she wouldn't be coming home. It was all just so horrible that Sterling had to look away, fearful he'd get too emotional.

"I don't think she'll make it past the Bloodbath." Justin said sadly, echoing Sterling's thoughts out loud.

The escort said nothing to Clarimonde, instead moving straight for the boys bowl. She quickly grabbed a slip and opened it, ringing out the name of the boy Reaped.

"Sterling Taylor!"

Sterling gasped loudly and violently, his body actually recoiling as if hit. He gaped towards the stage, fully aware that both Justin's and Ethan's eyes were on him. He turned to look at them, the horror on his face causing them to shrink away. Sterling then remembered their pact. When they had all turned twelve, the three boys had promised each other never to volunteer for the other if one of them was Reaped.

Now, Sterling looked at both of them with understanding, but also an underlying sense of desperate hate. _'You could at least try to volunteer.'_ he thought bitterly. Those thoughts quickly left though when he realized if it had been Justin or Ethan Reaped, he'd probably be acting the same way.

With a heavy sigh, Sterling stepped out of his section and waited for the Peacekeepers to collect him. As they did, Sterling couldn't bare to look anyone in the eye. He didn't care if he wasn't looking strong enough for the Capitol, he should be allowed a minute of self-wallowing.

As he took to the stage, the escort began wrapping things up. "Our tributes for District 10, ladies and gentlemen! Clarimonde Amberson and Sterling Taylor! May the odds be ever in your favor, you two! Shake hands!"

Sterling, still shaking, forced a smile to his face as he extended his hand to the smaller girl. Clarimonde looked at it and them him fearfully, slowly extending her own scarred hand towards his.

"We... uh... we should be, you know, allies or something..." Sterling said, his nerves still fried.

Clarimonde looked at her partner, the fear blazing in her eyes. "You're not going to turn on me, like Kaden did Willa?"

Sterling shook his head, trying to extend his smile further. Clarimonde wasn't convinced though, as she torn her hand from his in a fit of anger.

"I don't believe you." She muttered.

* * *

**_Writing about all the tributes from last year is making me miss them :( I actually felt a flash of guilt for killing Anastasia... but I still don't regret it and am proud of how last story ended. Plus, I think we've got some more great tributes now and hope you guys feel the same :)_**

**_Also I fell the need to address this again, because it'll be a reoccurring theme, but the thoughts on religion do not reflect my own. I'm just portraying how I think these tributes would consider organized religion as to them it truly is a foreign concept. If you're new the story and need a quick update on why religion matters, go to the 76th Games and read the D9 Reaping chapter to see where it all began. Again, I don't mean to offend any readers. I'm just saying... after all the crap the Capitol puts the Districts through I don't think some people would consider trusting in what appears to be an absentee God._**

**_Final Reaping Chapter NEXT! AAAAH SO EXCITED!_**

**_Up Next: District 11 and District 12_**

**_Tributes: Haspen/Luna and /Aileen_**


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